Ultimatum
by chezchuckles
Summary: From the video by yamakiluv. Castle is given an ultimatum: the file for Beckett's life. AU Future.
1. Chapter 1

**Ultimatum**

* * *

based on the fan video trailer, Ultimatum, by **yamakiluv**

* * *

"Tell me you need me."

He hears her quick laugh on the phone even over the clap of thunder as he walks out of his publisher's building. It's pouring, and he jogs as quickly as he can with his hands full, slides inside his car, slams the door. He's soaked to the skin and lightning licks the sky.

"Castle, I think your writer's imagination is getting away with you."

"I doubt it," he murmurs, smiling into the phone. "Where are you?"

"Where are you?" she counters, and he can hear the purr in her voice.

"Just picked up a ton of fan mail from Black Pawn, about to head to another meeting at the printer's." He glances to the seat beside him where he threw the carton.

"You read your fan mail? I thought you had someone to do that for you."

"I've been picking it up and going through it for the last few months. Haven't. . .ah, had the time before now," he says, admitting with that sentence that he's been - distracted by her.

She hums. "You get home early enough, and I could help you - ah, read your fan mail." The way she says it, he knows it's something dirty she wants to do to him.

He's got to look like the world's biggest fool, sitting in the car with the rain pounding the roof, his plaid shirt soaked through, water still dripping in his eyes, but a huge smile on his face.

His wife just laughs on the phone; he can hear the beautiful, rich tones of her voice in that laugh. "So who needs who now, Castle?"

"Can we call it a mutual thing?" he says quickly, warm with the thought of her in their place, the one they bought together a year ago, the one they're still working on, room by room.

"Sure," she gives in. "But only because I need your help painting the room."

"Ah, darn. Not what I was hoping to do tonight."

"What were you hoping to do?" she teases.

"You."

He can hear the bubble of her laughter, can practically see her rolling her eyes-

"What the hell?" she mutters.

"Kate?"

"Hold on."

He can't hear anything over the rain pounding his car, can't hear anything but the faint impression of her breathing, and he strains to make out-

"Oh fuck-"

Her voice, vibrant and loud and _panicked_, and then he hears the phone clatter to the floor.

"Kate!"

* * *

She wakes in the darkness to a jolt that has her teeth rattling. A ragged bounce of the metal floor beneath her has her head slamming into the side, tongue bit and bleeding.

A van. She's been tossed into the back of a van.

Kate struggles to orient herself, her shoulders pulled taut behind her, tied at the wrists and looped to her feet, trussed and gagged. Dark. No light through the square window in the back doors, cold metal under her, stiffness in her bones.

Lying on her side, she can't control the toss of her body across the back of the van. She smashes her cheek into something sharp, a corner, feels pain blossom along her ribs as they go over another pothole.

She grunts and squeezes her eyes shut to keep her stomach settled, tries not to think too long about what she can't control.

They crashed into her house so quickly, precise and orchestrated down to the moment. All she had in warning was the creak of the floor in the dining room, the form of a man, and then a hand came around her throat and drove her back against the wall.

After that-

She can still feel the skin under her nails where she scraped his arm, so when her body is dumped they'll have DNA.

Shit. Oh God-

Get it together. Keep it together.

Castle. Castle was on the other end of the phone - he'll know what do. Also, she's relatively unhurt, despite the thickness in her throat, the bruising, and the swollen and split lip.

Kate tilts her head to her shoulder to check, winces at the lancing agony in her cheek. Okay, so the pistol whip might have cracked her bone. She lashed out, got her knee in the guy's nuts, an elbow into his eye socket, and in return, the guy raised his hand and brought it down against the side of her face, the butt of his weapon crushing her cheek.

Paramilitary outfit. All of them in commando gear, professional, faces like stone, eyes flinty.

Kate tries to shift onto her back, her arms behind her and beginning to pulse with pain. But resting awkwardly on her shoulders like this allows her fingers to fumble at the knots around her feet.

She feels the ragged pull of a broken nail, grits her teeth against it. Almost worse than the throb in her cheek. Still, she works at the slick nylon rope, the tight knots, trying to loosen them, trying for anything at all.

She's got to be ready when they stop. She has to.

Because she saw their faces. She's seen their faces. All seven men.

They don't intend to keep her alive.

* * *

He called Esposito when her line went dead; a hand grips the steering wheel as he roars through the rain, feels the wheels fishtailing, his car hydroplane.

Esposito calls him back only two minutes later.

"Two unies just arrived on scene, and she's not there."

"I know what I heard."

"I'm saying, Castle, that no one is home and they don't see-"

"Fuck you," he growls, and ends the call, tosses his phone to the seat. It hits the full carton of his fan mail and bounces into the floor.

His heart is thudding so hard that his whole body shakes. It takes entirely too long for him to pull up in front of their brownstone; he double parks and jerks out of the car, slogs through the rain to his front door.

One of the responding officers is already coming back out, a hand up ineffectually to block the pouring rain. Castle shoves past him, into the entry, dripping wet, ruining the floors she'd say, and comes to a halt in the kitchen.

There's nothing.

Already the rain is beginning to let up, late sunlight breaking through the grey clouds, making the sky that strange, urine-colored yellow through the floor to ceiling windows of their breakfast nook. He can taste blood in his mouth and he realizes he's bit his tongue at some point.

The kitchen is empty. Dishwasher is running, he notices, his brain tripping over that information.

Dishwasher is running.

He spins slowly-

"Mr. Castle, I presume?" A man in a dark, rain-limp suit is approaching him from the back hallway that leads to the office. He holds out a hand. "Detective Rockman. I was the second car here, favor to Esposito. Worked in the 54th together."

Castle shakes the man's hand, but nothing is making sense.

"You want to tell me why you had us responding-?"

"I was on the phone with her. My wife. We were talking and then she said _Hold on_, and then she cursed and the phone dropped, and I heard. . .there were - I swear I heard Kate getting - I don't know. God, I don't know. I thought - I envisioned broken dishes and the drywall smashed through and - it sounded bad. Oh God-"

He scrapes a hand down his face, buries his eyes behind his fingers. What did he hear? What-

"It looks like a lot of nothing right now, Mr. Castle-"

Well, shit. It's not nothing, it's _something._ "If it was nothing, Rockman, she'd have called me back."

"She's not here," Rockman says, and there's something in his eyes that Castle can't read, but thinks he probably should. "She's not in the house, Mr. Castle. No sign of her phone. Some empty hangers, missing places in the drawers-"

"The fuck you say," he growls, pushing past the detective and heading for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Once inside their room, he stops short, astonished.

Things are missing. The box she keeps her mother's ring inside; the tube of chapstick that was resting on her bedside table. The book he remembers last seeing on the bed.

Castle yanks open the door to the walk-in closet - used to be the room next door, but he lobbied hard to turn the space into an excessively large wardrobe.

Her suitcase is gone.

"Her suitcase is gone?" Rockman echoes.

Did he say that out loud?

Castle turns and sees Rockman in the doorway, standing politely, an eyebrow raised.

"Mr. Castle, if her suitcase is gone, her phone - we found no trace of a purse or ID, I noticed a few empty slots where I assume she had shoes - a gap in the cosmetics drawer in the bathroom-"

"God," he grunts, twists on his heel to run for the bathroom. He feels a beast clawing at his chest, making his lungs ragged. "Her stuff is missing." Perfume. Yeah, cosmetics. Toothbrush.

Oh God.

"I heard a man's voice. On the phone. She cursed, and I heard a voice, the sounds of - a fight, struggle, a body hitting something." Her body. He's certain of it.

"Sir, if you did hear a man's voice, it looks like she left voluntarily. No sign of a struggle, no forced entry. And actually, the responding officers had to break down the door to get in. It was locked."

"No," he whispers, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "No, that's not right. If she could, she would call me."

"Maybe she-"

"No," he growls, jerking his head up to look at Rockman. "Something has happened to her. Someone kidnapped her-"

"My hands are tied," Rockman says quietly. "She's an adult - she's packed a bag. There's nothing here, Mr Castle."

And then Rockman turns and leaves Castle in their empty bedroom.

He's hollow, his voice dried in his throat and sticking, unable to call Rockman back; he's a shape without form, shade without color.

* * *

The shaky edge of panic rolls in her stomach, comes up her throat.

She bites down on her tongue to keep from throwing up; she can't, she can't. The gag. She can't. Not right now. Not right now. Hold on a little bit longer, please.

She wills her body back under her control, grips the rope tighter. She keeps in a low crouch at the back doors, shifting side to side to keep her feet from going numb. She finally got the ropes off and she's ready. She has one shot; she can't fuck this up.

Oh God, oh God-

The van lurches to a sudden halt; she gets thrown forward and then back, smacking into the doors with a groan. She scrambles back to her feet, but it was just enough to throw her.

The van doors snap open just at that moment and Kate gets a sense of darkness, underground garage, and then she's jumping the guy with the gun, bringing him down easily.

The rope is already looped around his neck and she goes straight to lethal force, snaps his neck with a twisting jerk of her hands. He slumps, and damn it, her leg is trapped under him.

Already the team is on her; she has the gun. She fires point blank, catches the guy in the gut but he doesn't go down. She fires again, but she's too late - the blow comes from behind, one she didn't see coming-

She blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ultimatum**

* * *

Esposito shakes his head.

"Don't you dare," Castle starts, but Espo holds up a hand.

"I'm not saying she left you. I'm not that stupid," Esposito says. Ryan finishes his walk-through at that moment, comes back to them in the kitchen. "I know she didn't leave of her own free will. They made it look like she did so they could keep the cops off their trail for as long as possible."

"You're cops," he says. "Get on the trail."

"I called in forensics," Ryan interrupts. "They're on their way. Rockman was doing his job, man."

"He claimed he was a friend of yours," Castle grunts.

"Not exactly," Espo says, shaking his head. "Just. You know. A guy. Grudging respect because he wears the badge. I didn't have anyone else nearby, and-"

"This is so messed up," Castle groans. "Kate. Kate is-"

"Hey man," Esposito says quickly. "We will find her. Ryan and I are gonna go canvas the neighborhood ourselves. You stay by the phone - you know how to work the equipment."

Stay by the-

"You think they'll call? You think this is just some run of the mill kidnapping?" he says, incredulous. "You know what this is."

Ryan shifts from foot to foot, looks away from Castle. Esposito, at least, keeps his gaze. He doesn't back down.

"What is this, Castle?"

"It's him. It's the damn Dragon. He's come after her."

Espo is already shaking his head. "We have a deal with that bastard-"

"And why in the hell are we supposed to believe he'll keep it?" Castle scrapes a hand through his hair and tugs, closing his eyes. "Kate. Oh God-"

"We'll find her. Whoever, whatever - we will find her, Castle."

"We're headed for your neighbors. Do you know them?" Ryan says quietly. "Names, recent move-ins-"

"No. I - No. We haven't - shit, it's been a year and we haven't even introduced ourselves. There's a guy who leaves for work at the same time - around seven or eight at night - and we make up stories about what he might be doing, male stripping is Kate's-"

He closes his eyes, growls at himself, at the light, at the stupid story he's telling when he should be coming up with some damn pertinent information.

"We got it. We'll come back and let you know what we learn. Stay here, Castle."

He nods, opens his eyes to watch them leave. Out the front door that Kate actually took off the hinges and re-stained with her father's help one Saturday afternoon. She got stain on the floor of the entry way that they haven't covered up yet.

Castle comes forward until he finds it, sees it, that stain she made nearly six months ago.

And then, because he likes to torture himself, because he can't stand the aloneness of their house and he needs to think more clearly if he's going to find Kate, Castle takes the stairs up to the second floor, treading heavily.

Their bedroom is up here, but more than that-

He goes to the second door on the right; it's wide open. Rockman and his crew probably went through it, and then after them Ryan and Esposito. But they won't have known what this room is, what it means, what they stand to lose.

He was supposed to help her paint today.

His heart pounds as he stands in the empty room, no touches yet, no furniture, nothing. As if it didn't exist.

As if their baby is already lost.

Oh God.

Kate.

* * *

She surfaces slowly, the flash of pain like too-bright light.

She swallows through the thick taste in her mouth, keeps her eyes closed until she can smother the nausea and deal.

Tied again, but - upright. In a chair. Handcuffed to a chair. There is light - a naked bulb overhead that peels her eyes. She shuts them and then tries looking through the slits of her eyelids, but it doesn't help. She can see nothing past the intensity of that light.

She keeps her eyes shut then, listens. Her breathing is ragged; she realizes her nose is swollen, one of her eyes is puffy, and her head throbs. The nausea comes again in a wave, and she's not gagged, so she tilts to the side and lets herself vomit.

She's done enough of that recently; she's a pro. She lifts her shoulder to swipe at her mouth, get rid of the taste.

They will have to come in and clean it up, right? They will have to - something. It is something.

Shit. Food, water. Oh God. They could just-

Stop. Keep it together.

She was on the phone with Castle. It happened fast, but the 12th will have a jump at least. There is that. There is at least that.

She cannot do this to him. She can't.

Focus. Think. Act.

Small steps.

She won't do this to him.

And then a shadow forms out of the too-bright glare, comes for her.

"Time to call."

* * *

It happens only twenty minutes after the boys head outside to talk with their neighbors, only three hours since Kate-

His phone rings. His cell phone.

His caller ID says-

_Kate._

Her beautiful face on his screen and he's running down the stairs and heading for the damn equipment that he ought to know how to operate - the laptop and his phone - shit, he was paying attention, he really was, but he can't-

Here it is. The stupid cord won't - there it is, okay. Damn, his hands are shaking, and he chokes even as he answers it, his body dropping like a stone to the floor of their living room in front of the laptop.

"Kate?"

"Van. Parking gara-"

"Not-uh, Kate," a snarling voice interrupts.

The computer is tracing the call. All he has to do is keep the asshole on the line.

Van. Parking garage. Van. Parking garage-

"Don't be a bitch and spoil our fun," the voice comes again. "Mr. Castle."

"Don't you hurt her-"

"Don't worry about her. She just took out two of my men, Mr. Castle. She can take care of herself-"

"I am going to find you. You hear me. I will find you and-"

"You do that. And when you find me, Mr. Castle, make sure you bring the file."

His mind goes blank.

"You bring the file - no cops, no feds - you get your wife."

"Wait. Wait, what?"

"Don't fuck with me. Bring the file. You have twelve hours."

And then he hangs up.

No trace.

* * *

"We've got the Tech guys waiting to triangulate her cell phone based on the satellites it bounced off," Espo says, pocketing his own phone as he finishes the call. "We'll have it as soon as they get the records."

"Can't I just give permission or-"

"They're in her name. We gotta go through channels."

He's putting everything in both their names, from now on. Damn it. Until then-

"He said two of his men. She took out two. Just - it sounded like it happened recently. So they took her somewhere, and she said parking garage, so-"

"Castle."

"-I'm thinking we can estimate how long a drive it might have been, usual rates of speed so they don't get pulled over, she's been gone-"

"Castle."

"-I don't know if I can do the math myself, but there's got to be a program-"

"Castle!"

He stumbles to a grinding halt, jerked back by the strident voice of Detective Ryan. He's never heard Ryan cut him off like that. Never heard Ryan-

"Castle, let us handle this."

"We have a partial on the number, but it's probably a burner phone. We don't have the resources to narrow down parking garages - they could've driven in circles for all you know - but we will have the cell phone's last-"

"There has to be something else we can do," he growls out, scraping a hand over his face. He can feel himself sway in the too-bright kitchen lights, wants to sink down to the wood floor and catch his breath.

But there's no time.

Esposito lays a hand at his back. "Castle. We will do everything-"

"What about - he said no cops, and no FBI. What if you-"

"Not going to happen. Your best shot - Beckett's best shot - is to have official help. You know that."

"I don't know that," he grunts. "I don't know that at all. This guy is serious. He-"

"What you need to do, Castle, is figure out what it is he wants from you." Ryan is turning him back to the living room. "Listen to the call again. The file. We need to-"

"I don't have any idea what he's talking about. Work files? A case or something? What-"

"If we're assuming this is him - the Dragon - then it's got to be something Dragon-related." Ryan queues up the call while Esposito presses down hard on Castle's shoulder, making his knees buckle and his ass land on the couch in front of the laptop.

"Dragon-related," Castle repeats. "I don't - we've been out of that. That was the deal. We made a deal and we've stuck to that damn deal. They were supposed to leave us alone."

Ryan presses play and there's the tremble of his voice, the clear and sure response of his wife - _van, parking garage_.

"She was in a van. They threw her in a van, and then transferred her in a parking garage. I bet that's where she took out two of his guys," Castle says, talking over the sound of the stranger's voice, the all-too familiar cadence of his sneer, the uncompromising demand.

"Castle," Esposito says. "Focus on the file. We need to figure this out."

He scrapes a hand through his hair, feels the frayed edge of his control slipping through his fingers with the action. He needs to get it together; he needs to help her. He can't fall apart.

She's fine. He knows, at least, that. She isn't hurt - yet - and she gave him a clue. Van and parking garage. Esposito can ignore it as unhelpful, but Kate isn't stupid.

Twelve hours. Bring the file.

Regardless, he's got twelve hours to find her, find this damn file, and he's supposed to be doing this alone. No cops.

"Hey. Why don't you guys go back to the 12th and start looking through all her cases?" he says quickly. "See if you find something that pops. And you can keep on top of forensics and the Tech guys too, you know? I'll search the office here and see if I find something."

Esposito and Ryan narrow their eyes in sync, eerily alike in their blantant mistrust of his suggestion.

"You can take the call with you, right? Have someone in Tech see if they can filter out background nosies? I recorded it on my phone too, so it's - I don't. . ."

Ryan is the first to break. "Yeah, man. Yeah, of course. We'll do that. You keep thinking about that file. That's what they want - we need to play along."

"Yes. Yeah. The office. I don't know - but I'm sure it's got to be a case, right? Some case that we just started. Or maybe you guys got the body drop recently?"

Esposito is shaking his head, but Ryan is copying the file onto a flash drive. "We'll leave the equipment here, Castle. If he calls again-"

"I know what to do."

"Stick close, man." Esposito reaches out and grips him by the shoulder. "Let us do this."

"Of course. Yes. Close."

He keeps nodding, plays up his shock, lets it unfurl around him, that sense of numb dread and confusion.

He's got to do this alone. The guy said alone. No cops, no feds. Alone.

It's not just Kate. It's not just Kate's life in the balance here.

Van. Parking garage.

_She just took out two of my men._

__It's not just Kate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ultimatum**

* * *

He takes the chance that his computer will be searched later and opens five or six windows, starts his research. Parking garages and driving times, the math muddling in his head. He traces the lines of roads on the map until his eyes are crossing, until the light fades and he's camped out in the darkness of their living room.

When he gets a list as thorough as he can make it, he emails it to himself and erases his web history, the cache, and the cookies.

He calls up his notes from one of the later Storm books, goes back through his contacts there, but it's been too long. He might know how but he's not sure he still has access to those resources. Still, he jots down notes and emails those to himself as well.

He changes his email password to a random string of numbers, and then he switches computers and starts going through Kate's recent workload. Cases pop up one by one, and he starts skimming them for details, evidence, a name. Anything.

His eyes burn and he glances at the time. Kate's been missing for four hours now.

He has eight hours to find the damn file.

* * *

His first call is to his mother.

"Darling-"

"Mother. Not a lot of time. I need your help."

"What's going on?"

"Kate's been kidnapped. I need you-"

"Kate has what?!"

"Mother. I need you to contact the security firm I used for the wedding. You remember?"

"Yes, of course, D-"

"Don't say it," he says tersely. He waits until the silence on the other end is without pretense, without distraction, and then he begins again. "Hire them. You have my emergency card-?"

"I do."

"Use that. I have a list of places - I need their help. A blacklight, at the least-"

"Foren-forensic work," she stutters.

"Mother," he warns.

"What else?"

"Don't call my phone. I'll call you in a little while, but you can't call this phone."

"Oh, Richard-"

"Mother." He waits for her.

"Yes," she says tightly. "Yes, all right."

He closes his eyes and grits his teeth.

"I got it. I'll call them right now." And then, mercifully, she hangs up.

Castle ends the call and cradles the phone against his chest, debates leaving it at their house, but he can't. If they boys figure out - they can use it to GPS track him, but-

Right now, he's got to take that chance. He needs to have it in case the guy calls back before he can get his new phone and forward his calls.

He has no idea what damn file, but he does know this-

Somewhere in this city, about three hours away, is a parking garage spattered with the body fluids of at least two men that his wife took out. And maybe her own.

* * *

It's dark and still drizzling rain when he steps outside their house.

He starts to walk the three blocks to the subway station, ignoring his perfectly good car sitting in front of the brownstone. He passes Kate's car as well, can't help taking a moment to rifle through his pockets for his keys and unlock hers.

He sits in the passenger seat for a second, breathing in her scent that still clings to the leather. He bought this car for her when they moved out here - they're still in Manhattan but he wanted to give her the choice to drive if the winter weather was too fierce, and her Crown Vic is just terrible, no longer even all that reliable.

He moves to get out again, fingers the plastic bag stuffed down between the passenger seat and the parking brake. He takes it with him, locks her doors, opens the bag.

Oh God.

Castle reaches in, his fingers stroking the soft material of the little thing.

When did she buy this?

A tiny crocheted baby elephant, grey yarn, black button eyes, a yellow ribbon around its neck, dwarfed even in the palm of his hand.

Castle sinks back against her car, crushing the plastic bag in his fist, the elephant pressed to his chest, drizzling rain down his face.

He has to breathe through it, eyes closed, before he can curl his fingers around the little elephant and struggle upright again, push off from the side of her car.

Whatever it takes. He will do _whatever_ it takes.

* * *

He's just coming up out of the subway station when his phone rings. He frowns at the unknown id, his heart rate picking up. They called last time from a burner phone but routed it through Kate's so that it was her id on his screen-

"Castle."

"Mr. Castle," says a brittle voice.

A voice he knows.

"Smith," he chokes out, his steps faltering. He's got the baby elephant in the pocket of his coat; he can feel it swing against his thigh as he jerks out of the flow of traffic. "Mr. Smith, why are you-"

"I've heard about Kate," Smith rasps. "It's the Dragon."

"Why is he doing this?" he hisses. "We made a damn deal with him. We _gave it up_."

"You did. But I didn't."

"What the hell?" he growls, clenches his teeth together at the look a mother gives him as she hustles her young son past his spot. He turns his back to the foot traffic, presses his thumb and forefinger to his aching forehead. "You went back on the deal."

"Mr. Castle, it was never my deal."

"We promised him to give it up, to leave it alone."

"But it was always just _for now_."

He knows that, he knows that Kate didn't abandon it for good, just for now, just until they could get this-

"Kate and I have our own arrangement, Mr. Castle."

"What - what arrangement?" His fingers are cold in the spring chill; the last of the rain still lingers in dark clouds over his head.

"She quit, but I - never have."

"This is because of you," Castle growls. "You brought his down on us. You-"

"Before you start - I'm dying."

His jaw drops; he blinks slowly in the neon city night.

"I'm dying, and I don't know how long I have before it takes me. My memory has already been affected; I believe it's the medication. I felt it was imperative to pass on the information I have collected over the years, including the file your former Captain and my friend-"

"The file," he swears. "You - it's because of you. The file-"

"I sent it to your office, Mr. Castle. I assumed you received it months ago."

Months ago?

Fan mail. It's in his fan mail. Which is inside his damn car, alone and unprotected, fuck-

"Mr. Castle? If this is my fault, I apologize. I assumed you could use the information to your benefit, protect yourselves when my time is up. I assumed you'd already dealt with it."

"I have to go. I have to - I have to get Kate back. It's that damn file. They've got Kate, and I have to go."

* * *

He hasn't heard from Smith in three years; they've not talked to each other, not met, not passed cryptic messages. He doesn't tape an X to his window or put out the bat signal. He leaves it alone.

But apparently Kate asked Smith to keep digging, to find prosecutable evidence against the Dragon, whomever he is. And then Smith sent that file to him at Black Pawn disguised as fan mail, and that brought the storm on them.

Shit.

Castle stops in the corner store despite the weight of that fan mail back at the brownstone. He purchases an expensive burner phone and quickly activates it, has his own number transferred to this one.

He calls his mother.

"Richard. I've been - I've got them."

"Densmere? Good. Thank you, Mother. I'm on a burner phone. You can call my number, no problem; it's transferring here."

"What is going on, Richard?"

"They broke into the house. They took Kate. I don't - they've called and demanded some files."

"This is about her mother's case, isn't it? I knew it wouldn't disappear for good. I knew it. Oh Lord, Kate. Kate."

"I know. I've - I'm going to find her."

His mother is silent; he knows her feelings on this, but he also knows she loves his wife like a daughter. There's more - there's so much more, but they wanted to keep it to themselves, keep it between them, to share, to marvel over.

God, he can't-

"Have you talked to Alexis?"

"No," he says quickly. "I can't. Won't do that to her right now. She's - this isn't a good time for her and I can't be there to-"

"I can call her, Richard. She deserves to know. This is her family too."

Except it's not, and by Alexis's own choice. For this reason exactly; she pulled away from them four years ago, and now that she's in her residency, she doesn't have the time or energy to be burdened with one more tragedy.

"Mother, you do what you think is right."

"You should call her, Richard. It should be you."

"And tell her she was right to keep her distance? That yeah, looks like everyone she loves is going to be tainted by this?"

"Richard."

He growls to clear his throat, keep the sting of grief out of his voice. "Mother, I don't have time for this. I need you to talk to Densmere and have them start at the addresses I'm going to send you. Parking garages around the city. Tell them to look for blood stains, body fluids - fresh-"

"Richard."

"Kate fought them. The guy told me himself that she took out two of them. By take out - I'm assuming she either severely incapacitated them or outright killed them. There'll be signs of it."

"All right. Yes, okay. God, Kate-"

"I'm going to find her, Mother. I'm going to get her back. You tell Alexis that too."

* * *

He has a new phone in his coat pocket next to the baby elephant; he feels the weight of them as he strides quickly down the sidewalk, mounts the eight steps to their brownstone. He unlocks the heavy door and pushes it open, shuffles inside.

It smells like forensic powder in here. Dusting for fingerprints and crisp clean-suits and official business.

And that smells like Kate at work, and it hurts.

He drops his own phone to the entry table and leaves it there, then mounts the stairs. He goes past the empty room without looking, heads for their bedroom. The clock reads nearly midnight and he can't fathom how it got so late. Midnight. Kate has been missing for six hours.

Her extra piece is in the safe mounted in the closet; he opens it quickly and pulls out the weapon in its dull metal box.

He opens it, lifts the Glock 26 out of its foam padding, carefully checks it over. He loads it with its 15 rounds, and pushes it into the holster she's always left in the safe. The polymer holster fits snugly into the band she usually has around her ankle; he bends down and straps it onto his left leg, gun on the inside, and then practices drawing it a few times to get the feel.

Shit, he hopes he doesn't blow a hole in his foot.

Castle stands once more, shoves his hand into his pocket to feel the baby elephant, trying to get used to the sensation of the gun.

Densmere will go over the garages on his list and maybe they'll find something. The boys will be working on triangulating Kate's signal.

He's got to get the files now that he's armed.

He needs to be ready. He can't stay here.

* * *

He doesn't even look at his fan mail; he gets his his car with the carton in the passenger seat and he drives. Out of Manhattan.

He gets on the FDR, takes the Brooklyn Bridge across to Brooklyn and doesn't look back. He finds a spot near Squibb Park off Furman, across from Brooklyn Bridge Park. The high stone wall surrounding the park is perfect for him; he takes the carton and walks the block back to the gated entrance.

It should be locked and closed this late at night, but it's not. The chain has been busted; he can hear skateboarders from here. Fits his needs exactly.

Once inside, the bright park lights illuminate the pathways, the trees, the broad foot bridge that crosses over Furman Street down to the pier. They renovated this park nearly six years ago, or started it really, and it's still being developed as the funding is pulled, renewed, pulled again.

Skaters are out in force, but they leave him alone; there's an excellent view of Manhattan from the park's elevation, but he ignores it to focus on the carton of fan mail in his hands.

He dumps the whole thing out on a park bench next to an ornate metal trash can, then starts going through it. He feels the gun at his pants leg, so conspicuous, and he glances around to make sure he's alone, adjusts his jeans to make sure he can get to it easily enough.

His stomach clenches as a skateboard shoots past him on the ramp, the rhythmic click and grind of its wheels in the dark enough to make him grit his teeth.

Castle tosses out the thinnest letters first, not even looking at them. Then he shuffles all the packages to one side, all the thicker envelopes that are probably unsolicited manuscripts or stacks of photos looking for autographs.

Sometimes underwear, even now. Sometimes worse.

He starts ripping them open, one by one, tossing the contents into the trash when it proves to be nothing more than fan mail.

When he gets to the file, he knows it before he even opens it.

Stamps pressed into a neat row, postmarked sloppily from a Manhattan zip code. Hand-lettered address with his name in that distinctive curve to the 'R' that he remembers. His mouth goes dry and he rips it open, slides out a manilla envelope.

The file.

He squeezes the brad fastener, scrapes his thumb under the flap, pries it open. Inside is a sheaf of papers, clippings, photos, everything.

This is everything.

He has the file.

* * *

If they would just turn the light off.

Kate squeezes her eyelids tighter, drops her head, breathes slowly through her nose. Her face feels swollen and hot, her right eye stiff with it. The overhead light scrapes against her vision, keeps her dizzy and sick.

Not right now, baby. Not right now. Totally bad time for this, sweetheart.

She swallows hard and cracks open her left eye, tries to use her hair to provide some shade, enough to just see. But there's only the white glare of light.

At least it's her face. She can survive, baby can survive if it's her face. A kick to the gut-

Okay, okay, just don't think about it.

Her shoulders are numb now, which isn't a good sign but it's a huge relief. She can feel the handcuffs at her wrists, feel where it digs, but most of her fingers are dead too. She shifts in the metal chair and winces as her ass tingles, her butt bones sharp against the hard seat.

She slowly licks her bottom lip, feels the jagged flare of pain where it's split. That gives rise to a host of other complaints, bruising down her back and hip, the vivid throb of her face, the nails scraping inside her blood vessels as oxygen is slowly starved from her limbs.

The pain focuses her.

Where she's held sounds like a parking garage, but it can't be. Underground though, yes. Concrete, smells of poor drainage and heavy use. Beyond the gleam of light, she hears the occasional trunk or crate hitting the floor - like shipments or cargo are being moved - but the thickness of the walls must keep the sounds of men from her ears.

It is only when something heavy falls or is scraped across the floor that she hears anything at all.

So thick walls. Sewage system? She hasn't heard rats, so maybe not. Hard to know anything when the bare bulb is piercing through her very skull, peeling back her brain, making her body slice apart with it.

She licks her lip again for the feel of that singular agony, straightens up in the chair to keep the ache off her shoulders.

She absolutely hates having her hands behind her. No defense, none, should they come back. Her legs are duct taped to the feet of the chair, but if she could work them loose, then she could draw her knees up to her chest, protect the baby.

Kate starts wriggling her foot back and forth in the tape, rotating her ankle, straining against the silver bonds. She jerks her leg back and feels the tape peel to shift with her; she kicks forward and it peels the other direction.

Okay. Okay, this might work.

It just might work.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Due to safety issues, Castle is now carrying the weapon - a Glock 26 - in an ankle holster, not his pocket. Thanks to farscott for correcting my research mistakes.

* * *

**Ultimatum**

* * *

He wants to be able to say he doesn't know a thing. He wants to say it and mean it.

Their lives depend on him being able to say with confidence - _I haven't looked at this. I don't know what it is._

He still holds out hope that they will truly leave them alone.

For three years, they've had a deal. It's been fine. It's been just fine. If they will give him back Kate, if they will leave his family alone, he'll kill his curiosity dead.

He doesn't need to know.

He slides the file back into the brown packaging, tucks it under his arm, checks the Glock 26 just to reassure himself, and then walks out of Squibb Park.

He never has to know.

It's now nearly three in the morning and Kate has been missing for nine hours.

* * *

It's loose.

The tape is loose.

Her nausea recedes to a pinpoint as she works at the duct tape around her leg, grinds her calf into whatever rusted metal that's ripped from the frame of the chair and gouges her with every pass.

At least it hasn't punctured the material of her jeans. Yet. Only a matter of time. If she can get the tape loose enough, then she might be able to slide down off this leg of the chair, free one foot. . .

Something. It's a start.

* * *

He keeps the file tucked into the back of his jeans, his coat over it, and he walks quickly back to his car. When he gets in, his mouth is dry, his hands shaking, but he can't think about it.

He should've known that Kate would want _someone_ to still be investigating this. And it turns out she was right. They made a deal, but it did them little good.

Doesn't matter. He's got no bargaining tools but this damn file, and his ignorance is what will keep them alive.

He has less than three hours.

* * *

She rocks back, the panic flaring in her stomach as the chair tilts onto one leg, that instinctive _I'm going to fall_ that she has to fight against.

But she doesn't have enough momentum and the chair crashes back to all four legs, solid, the metal echoing in the concrete room.

If it is a room; she has no idea. It sounds like a room.

She squeezes her left eye shut against the light and starts rocking again, back and forth, back and forth, struggling against the feeling of falling-

And then she does.

She hits the concrete with a groan, her shoulder taking the brunt of it. She kept her head lifted, but she couldn't stop the slight bounce of her skull, and now her ears are ringing, her vision shimmering again.

She leans up, kicks out, straining against the duct tape. She just needs to get it slipped off the leg of the chair, just a few more inches-

* * *

It's Esposito.

"Where are you?"

"Espo," Castle says, tries to think, has to think.

"Where the hell have you been? You left, man. That's not procedure. You've got to stay by the phone-"

"I've got my calls redirected-"

"Redirected? Where's your old phone?"

"You can stop the GPS trace, Espo."

"Did he call you again?" Esposito says darkly. "He called you and you think you can run off like her damn savior? You're going to get both of you killed."

"He didn't call. It's just that one. I have to do this, Javier. He said no cops. I have to-"

"Shit, you found the file. Didn't you. You found the damn file."

He clears his throat, hands gripping the wheel. He's got to ditch his car before they put out an APB on it. He needs cash too. He'll swing by an ATM and withdraw the max, then head for another one down the street. Can he risk that? Yeah, yeah, it's just the boys. They won't get warrants to freeze his accounts.

He can use a few ATMs here in Brooklyn.

"Castle. I am telling you - if you don't let us in on this, it will end badly."

"All I have to do - all I have to do is give them the file."

"_Castle._"

But he hangs up, takes a hard right towards the bank. Money. He needs enough money to buy a used car, something that isn't tied to his name right now, something for just the next few hours-

Oh, yeah, something like that. Beat-up truck parked in the Navy Yard lot, a For Sale sign stuck to the back window. Perfect. He calls the number written in black Sharpie, already faded, and puts the phone to his ear as he guns the car for the bank.

"'Lo?" Slurred voice. Damn, he forgot how late it was. Early. Whatever.

"I'm calling in regards to your truck."

* * *

Two hours and thirty minutes.

He shifts in the plastic bench seat of the '89 Ford F150. The beige paneling, the brown body - it's truly a disgusting, flannel-shirt-wearing vehicle, and surprise surprise-

Castle just happens to be wearing a flannel shirt.

Maybe the Universe is lining everything up perfectly, or maybe it's setting him up.

The truck is a beast and he's left the gun out on the seat next to him for easy access. He calls Densmere with the contact number his mother texted him.

"Densmere Security, this is Jack."

"Jack, it's Richard Castle. Status update?"

"Mr. Castle, sir. We've eliminated ten of the fifteen locations. We have teams at three more, and we should be done processing those within the hour."

"Good. Very good. Thank you."

"We'll call this number when we have something?"

"Yes, you have it on your phone?"

"I do."

"Thank you, Jack."

He hangs up and his phone is already ringing; he can tell by the number that it's a precinct extension.

"Castle." He grits his teeth, waiting for it.

"Castle, it's Ryan. You have to-"

"Have you guys found anything? How's tech on tracing her phone?"

"We're still working on it. Looks like another couple hours. Castle, you have to come back. You can't do this. You don't have-"

"We don't have another couple hours. All I need is a location. All I need is to know where-"

Wait. Why can't Castle just call them - _tell_ them he has the file?

"Ryan, I have to let you go."

Castle pulls off into another parking lot, this time an empty lot for a Walgreens, and he scrolls through his call history. When he finds it, he holds his breath until the guy answers.

His voice is rubbery. "Mr. Castle-"

"Smith, I have the file. You tell them. You tell them I've got the file and they better set up a meeting."

"Mr. Castle, I can't-"

"Yes, you can. You know who these people are. I haven't looked at it. I won't look at it. Call the bastard and tell him I have his information and if he wants it, then we'll do an exchange."

"I have a limited-"

"What you have is everything. You have always held the cards. You're dying, right? So do this one last good thing for me, for us. Help me. She's only got two more hours."

There's a long silence and Castle closes his eyes, willing it to happen. It has to happen. It has-

"All right. Let me. . .let me see what I can do."

Castle lets out a shaky breath, bows over until his forehead is touching the steering wheel.

"I can't make you guarantees, Mr. Castle. It's not like I can just call this guy up. I'll have to work through channels and get the word spread-"

"I don't care. I don't care. Just. Help me."

* * *

Kate growls in frustration as her jeans snag on the metal piece again. That damn piece. She can't yank her foot past the leg of the chair without slicing open her skin on that piece of jagged metal.

Okay then.

Then that's what she has to do.

The chair is still on its side, her body canted up over the seat to give her leverage. Her arms are still tightly handcuffed behind her back, everything aching with each movement.

But this is what has to be done.

She raises her leg as far as she can and then jerks it down quickly, ripping off a Band-aid-

The claw of metal up her calf has her gasping; her torso falls back, head hitting the concrete, body crying out, but-

her leg is free of the chair.

Her leg is free of the chair.

* * *

He answers without looking, expecting her abductor to be calling, expecting them to already know he's got the file. Expecting a miracle.

"Dad?"

"Alexis." He grips the wheel of the truck, his eyes not seeing the road. He's heading back to Manhattan because he doesn't know where else to go, because it's the epicenter of all of this, but he has no idea. He has no idea.

"Gram said that Kate's gone."

He grits his teeth and clears his throat. "She's been taken."

"By these people."

"Yes."

"Dad. . ."

"We're handling it. We've got the NYPD and-"

"No, you don't. Dad, Javier called me."

Fuck. That was low.

"I'm handling it," he says then. "They just want some information. I can give that to them and get Kate back."

"Dad."

He doesn't have time for this. He doesn't have time to try to explain to her all over again why-

"Dad, Kate told me."

"What?" Kate told her what?

"You guys are pregnant."

He can't help the whine in his throat, and he has to repeatedly clutch at the wheel, staring straight ahead to keep it togeher.

"Dad, I don't - I never wanted this to happen. I never - I want you to be safe, and I want Kate to be safe, and oh God, Dad-"

"I can't do this. Alexis. I can't. I can't."

"What do you need me to do?" she says in rush, her words tripping over the phone. "Anything. What do you need? I'll fly home."

"No. No - don't-"

"I'm already in the airport."

"You've got your residency-"

"I took a emergency leave. I told them my stepmom. . ."

"Alexis," he growls.

"Please, Dad."

"Gram has keys to the brownstone."

"I have a key. Kate - Kate sent me a key."

Kate sent her a key. His heart is going to crack open. He can't take this. He can't-

"Dad, they're calling my flight. It's only forty-five minutes, so whatever you need - whatever-"

"Don't tell anyone about the baby," he says finally. "Don't tell- don't-"

"Okay. Okay, I won't. I won't. I love you, Dad. Please be careful."

* * *

Kate curls her knee up when she hears men working outside her door, curses herself for not having been faster, tries to hurry now.

She's backed into the corner of the room, damp cinderblock at her back, her eyes already adjusted to the painful circle of light cast by the naked bulb.

It's from a lamp that stands in the middle of the room; it was that light that kept her from being able to orient herself. Once she got her right leg free, mangled as it was, she managed to kick at the chair until she ripped her left leg free as well. With her hands still cuffed behind her back, she maneuvered out, put her back to a wall as soon as she could stand, pulled the chair in front of her body.

She crouches in the darkest corner, fingers gripping the chain of the cuffs, and slowly works her ass through the loop made of her cuffed arms. She has to waddle like a duck, squatting down awkwardly as she slips one leg through, then the other, draws her hands up in front of her now.

Her right shoulder pops into place, but her left remains - wrong. She can't - it's just wrong, it's not in the joint like it should be, and she can't lift her arm to defend herself.

She grunts softly against the pain and throws her shoulder into the wall, blindly hoping it will help. The discomfort only grows worse, the grating of bone on bone, and she can't - she has to-

The bolt slides back, the door creaks open.

She holds her breath, heart pounding with agony, listens.

"What the fuck-"

She goes still, waits, listening, tries to time it just right, just right, wait, Beckett, wait-

She rises up at the last minute, shoving at the chair so it skitters across the concrete floor. The man turns to the noise and she sets herself, breathes, and then puts the full force of her body behind the kick.

Kate feels the satisfying snap as the man's neck whips around; his body crumples. She keeps her breathing even, her left arm cradled awkwardly in front of her stomach, hands still cuffed together.

Hunching over, she fumbles at the body until she finds the gun, pops the clip into her cupped palm, then loads it back. Good pressure on the trigger, the grip is a little off for her fingers, but it's better than she expected.

With her hands cupped together, she raises her arms in the Weaver stance, her shoulder screaming, and treads lightly for the still-open door.

Come on, baby.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ultimatum**

* * *

Esposito sounds pissed.

Good. So is Castle.

"You called my daughter."

"She called us," he says in defense.

"You should never have brought her into this."

"Whatever it is between you guys, Alexis needs you back home. Beckett needs you back home, doing this by the book-"

"You know I can't. How's triangulating her signal?"

"Nothing so far. Castle, listen to me. You have to let us do this-"

"No cops. He said no cops, and all I have to do is get the file to him, and he'll give Kate back-"

"You really think he'll do that?" Esposito says quietly.

Castle ends the call. His time was up anyway - he doesn't want the guys putting a trace on it.

* * *

Kate braces herself against the outside wall of the room, breathing slowly through her mouth as she waits in darkness. She keeps her left shoulder to the concrete as she makes a slow circuit.

The place is abandoned. She can't see past the circle of light coming faintly overhead - far, far overhead. A vast basement? It's difficult to determine where she is, where she should go to get out of here, and she keeps her pace even to push out the thin fingers of panic clawing at her guts.

She can't believe they left only one guy down here with her. Not after she killed two of theirs during the transfer in the parking garage. Would he be that careless, arrogant?

She remembers his face, remembers the ice in his eyes as he looked at her while he was on the phone with Castle.

A professional - just like Lockwood, just like Maddox. Same dead eyes that she saw one summer on a rooftop.

She feels a prickle of awareness that creeps up her back, like a breath on her neck.

No.

He's not that careless. She's being hunted just as surely as she thinks she's the hunter.

* * *

It comes without warning and she curses as her knees crack onto the concrete floor, caught by her elbows when she can't get her hands apart to break her fall.

Another swift kick sends the gun flying from her nerveless fingers, spins her away from him but jars her bad shoulder into the ground. She rolls to her feet, clutching the bracelets of the handcuffs, hoping to get close enough to choke the man attacking her.

The next one is a punch that whips her jaw around, her face hot and raw and sticky, her body hunched as she backpedals. Beckett senses the rush of displaced air a moment before the next kick comes, curls up defensively, protecting her abdomen.

She's not surrendering, far from surrendering, but she can't absorb the hit and keep going.

The kick glances across her hip and she groans, feels herself flung back, uses the momentum to roll and get to her hands and knees. The filtering light shows her the flash of his leg and she catches the next kick with a chokehold around the man's calf, twists.

He doesn't go down.

Instead, he uses the movement to pile drive his elbow into her spine. She gasps and collapses, her legs numb, tingling, her hands trapped under her.

She's hauled to her feet but she can't even stand; lights swim in and out of her vision and she blinks repeatedly, trying to see, but nothing resolves.

"Bitch. Can't hide from me." And then she sees the slow shake of his head, like he's fucking sorry for her, and she snarls and kicks out only to be dragged back.

Hands, two pairs of hands, two guys on his team are gripping her, shoving her down the concrete corridor-

but it's not back to her prison, it's farther out into the vast, dark space.

* * *

Smith comes through.

Castle gets the call.

Blocked number and his palms are slick with sweat. He answers with a rasp. "Castle."

"I have your wife. You have the file?"

"I found it. I have it."

"An hour and a half ahead of schedule," the voice muses. "Good man. I like eagerness."

"Just give me a time and a place. You get the file, I get my wife."

"Atlantic Beach Bridge. You have one hour."

* * *

The truck is terrible; he can't go any faster than 55 miles per hour and the other vehicles on 280-W are flying past him in the darkness. He's going on memory; he couldn't risk google mapping it and he left his GPS in the car in Brooklyn.

He hopes this is right. He and Alexis and his mother took a trip to Far Rockaway Beach once to watch a tv show being film on location - some show that Alexis was in love with at the time. One of those random weekday trips that had them all getting home around two in the morning but the rapture on his daughter's face was worth it.

He remembers this drive like it was another lifetime.

It took them about fifty minutes, if he remembers right. Weeknight traffic then too, but he's got to get through Newark and cross the New Jersey Turnpike and it's just-

Shit. Shit, he has got to get this truck going faster.

He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out the baby elephant, shoves it down the dash. The upraised trunk tremors as he pushes the engine with a burst of speed; the black eyes regard him.

He is _not_ losing them.

* * *

"Dad."

"Alexis," he breathes out, switching lanes one-handed.

"I'm at the house. Kevin picked me up from the airport."

"Thank him for me." He didn't realize it, but something in the back of his imagination was throwing out nightmare images of another phone call, of his daughter being kidnapped, and only now can he release the death grip he's had on the wheel.

It's not _better_ by any means, but it's at least not any worse.

"Daddy," she says, her voice breaking.

He really can't. He can't do this-

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I love you and I never meant for it to get like this-"

"Alexis," he grits out, blinking quickly to keep the sting from his eyes.

"And I love Kate, you know I love Kate, and I'm sorry and the - the - you know - I want to be here for it, for everything, Dad-"

"Okay," he says in a rush. "Okay, okay, just - I can't do this right now." She's going to make him cry and once he starts, he won't stop. He won't stop.

"I know. Terrible timing; I know. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to not know. To wonder about me. Dad, I let myself be too busy to call or visit, but I've missed you so much."

"Same here, kiddo." He growls to keep it back, his throat closing up, guns the engine again to pass an old lady in a Lincoln Continental. "Kate sent you a key to our house?"

"Yeah," she says softly, and he scrapes his hand over his eyes quickly, quickly, puts it back on the wheel.

"Alexis. . ."

"She's been emailing me. Every week. She never - she doesn't judge, she doesn't get mad, she just lets me know. . .what's going on."

"She didn't tell me she was doing that."

"I emailed her back a month ago, and she called me."

He sucks in a ragged breath.

"I yelled at her," Alexis whimpers. "Daddy, I just - I was so mad, and I blamed her for how terrible I let it get between us, and she just took it, she just listened, and she told me I should come home but I hung up on her, and I'm so sorry-"

"Alexis," he cuts in. "I can't do this. I can't. Tell Kate when you see her. Tell Kate, save it for her."

He hears his daughter struggling to keep it together, then her long and trembling breath in. "I'm sorry, Dad. But they asked me to help."

His heart drops like a stone.

She's kept him on the line long enough for Esposito and Ryan to trace this call.

* * *

He can't ditch the phone now. He can't stop to get a new one. He is screwed.

He just has to hope that he's far enough ahead to get this done, get Kate back before Espo and Ryan come in with guns blazing.

His own daughter. He should've seen it coming.

Was any of that-

He can't. He can't think about Alexis right now. Just drive.

So long as he can just get there, get to Kate. He has a window of about forty minutes on the cavalry; he can do it in forty minutes, right?

He can do it. He can get her back.

* * *

He approaches Atlantic Beach Bridge from the Queens side; sunlight is just beginning to dawn over his shoulder, painting his face. He squints and glances down at his phone, but it's silent.

The bridge is basically deserted. A lone car approaches and swings through. It's five-thirty and he made it in record time, but his stomach is churning.

He puts a hand on the Glock and drags it into his lap, lets the engine grumble as he slows down, approaching the center of the bridge. Flat and wide, the southbound lanes entering Atlantic Beach are completely desolate.

It's a small place during the off-season; late spring and all this cold rain means no one will be heading to the beach this morning.

He's practically crawling when he spots it. A kind of one-man blockade at the end of the bridge.

His hand curls around the Glock and he slows down even more, trying to guess where they want him to park, how they want to do this.

He peers intently at the car straddling two lanes of the bridge, perpendicular to the road. A man is walking slowly up the tarmac towards Castle, and after a moment, the vision resolves.

The man is coming slowly, arms braced in a familiar stance. A gun. He's aiming-

The gunshot cracks through the windshield and thunders into the bench seat, passenger side. Castle flinches and ducks down, his foot automatically pressing on the brake, the truck violent in its overthrow of the engine. He has to crank the ignition again, flood it with gas before it starts and in the meantime, two more shots hit their mark.

He feels the great groan of the truck and then it lurches forward; he lifts his eyes in desperation and sees the car at the end of the bridge, the lone gunman striding calmly towards him.

No one else is in that car.

Kate's not here.

He didn't bring Kate.

Bile rises in his throat, his hands frozen on the steering wheel until the fourth shot gets the baby elephant, sends it exploding in a frenzy of stuffing and yarn, the grey body dropping, an empty and ragged husk.

Castle stares at the man firing at him, stares at the empty car beyond, and then he stomps on the gas and bears down.

* * *

The impact of the Ford truck into the side of the black Mercedes hits like a brick wall. The seatbelt catches and yanks him back, but his forehead slams into the wheel and causes him to lose time.

When he rouses, it's to screams.

He pinned the gunman between the truck and the Mercedes.

Castle fumbles at the seat belt and yanks open the driver's door, drops to his knees before he can get his feet under him. The man's shrieks are high-pitched, blood-curdling, and somehow so distant, remote.

He didn't even bring Kate.

Castle slips around the truck, a sick flare of pride to discover that the big brown beast is mostly undamaged.

But the man - fuck.

Castle turns sharply away and vomits in the road, dry heaving until he can get himself under control; he presses the back of his hand to his mouth and is reminded, starkly, of handing Kate a wash cloth last week after a bout of morning sickness. She took it from him with something like a smile, but stayed in the floor, pushed him out the door. She hates throwing up in front of him.

His throat and mouth burn as he turns back, but he can't lose his chance.

"Where's Kate?" he rasps, forcing himself over. The man's lower half is twitching, like there's still some connection there, some part of him unwilling to let go. He's been caught above the knees against the Mercedes, almost like the initial crash tossed him back, but the truck pins his chest to the top of the car's frame. Blood is in slick and hot rivers; he can smell offal and guts, and he wouldn't be surprised if the man's intestines are somewhere on the tarmac.

The man is losing it rapidly; his eyes roll behind his Ray Bans as Castle comes to him.

"Where is my wife?" he yells, reaching out and gripping the man by the neck - the only place left to him. "Tell me where she is."

The man's mouth twists into a grimace, blood makes his teeth red; he laughs and his pain is made into a sneer as he jerks in Castle's grip. "Fuck you-"

"Where is my wife, you tell me where she is-"

"Fuck you, fuck-"

He squeezes and the man chokes, his body thrashing between the two vehicles, a hand comes up from somewhere, slick with blood, and flails at him but there's no power to it.

Castle brings his face in close, squeezes harder. "I will watch you bleed to death, you piece of shit. I will grip your fucking neck, just like this, and I will move you just an inch-"

The man screams as Castle manipulates his pinned body, no doubt ripping at some trapped limb, tearing the soft lining of his belly.

"I can do this all morning," Castle says calmly, releasing his hand just enough so that air seems a gift. "Until you tell me where my wife is."

"Underground - subway. Fuck, oh fuck, oh God, kill me-"

"Where in the subway?"

"Fuck, you have to end it. You have to fucking kill me-"

"Where in the subway? Where is my wife?"

"Abandoned - shit, oh God, please - it's abandoned Roosevelt Avenue. Term-terminal Station."

"Where is that?"

"Fuck, fuck, it's agony you damn-"

He jostles the man with another twist of his wrist, and the man screams again, begging, his bloodied hand flopping uselessly at the still hot engine of the truck, skittering down Castle's sleeve.

"Where is that? Roosevelt Avenue. Terminal Station. Where-"

"Queens Boulevard Line - E train. Supposed - supposed to be from the Rockaways to midtown, never finished - fuck. Oh fuck, oh God-"

Castle lets go, and the man's body slides down another inch or so. A pitiful moan scrapes from his throat and Castle turns his back.

"No, no, God, please, you have to - you can't leave me-"

He yanks open the door to the cab and climbs into the truck.

The engine turns over like a thing of beauty, but horror shreds his insides.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ultimatum**

* * *

He takes the Van Wyck Expressway. The Roosevelt station is somewhere near LaGuardia and he's south of that, down past JFK, but he can do it. He can get there.

He needs directions. He'll never find it in the maze of Roosevelt Avenue. An abandoned station. He needs google and a few minutes to search, but he doesn't - he's afraid he doesn't have time.

He's got the baby elephant shoved into a pocket; he ripped his coat off and it hangs over the bench seat, reeking of car oil and a man's bowels. Blood. The smell of it is still in his nose.

His phone rings when he's just past Richmond Hill.

He doesn't answer it. Doesn't even look; he knows it's Esposito, knows they've probably gotten to the bridge. But Castle's got to get to the abandoned station and get his wife. He needs the element of surprise, and he's got - maybe thirty minutes before the Dragon starts to wonder where his man has gone.

He has the element of surprise for now, but not for long.

* * *

"Where are we going?" she growls, trying to catch her toes on the floor, delay, delay, delay-

"Shut the fuck up," he sighs, like he's so very tired of her already.

She shuts up. She can't - she's got to be smarter than this.

She's dragged down in the darkness, still handcuffed, her feet handcuffed as well now. She makes it hard on the two guys, lets her chain of the cuffs catch on nonexistent things, trips them up until the man gestures with an impatient jerk of his chin.

She's uncuffed at the feet and her heart rate climbs, preparing her body for flight.

She can do this. She can-

"Don't even think about it," he growls. The grip on her shoulders is brutal.

She's taken out into the high chamber where the lights have been turned on again; she sees it's a platform, tracks, some kind of abandoned subway tunnel. It's damp, and dark in the corners, boxes and crates are stored all over, and the group of men are back at moving things-

He keeps it all here. Doesn't he? The Dragon keeps his goods here. The Dragon brought her right down here and doesn't care if she sees. Oh God, they're not going to let her go.

"Where are we going?" she says quietly, giving the man in charge a long look. Her chest is cracking with it; she struggles to keep it together.

He stops before another metal chair, surplus from an office back in the early 1900s, no doubt, just like the one in her cell, and then she's being shoved down onto it, her teeth biting hard.

"Not going anywhere. Just bringing you out where we can see you."

She swallows hard and tastes the blood in her mouth. Her eye is still swollen; even with the running work lights - like the ones they have at crime scenes - she can't make out much in the strange shadows. Her face throbs.

"You're not gonna let me go, are you?"

The two burly guys are duct taping her legs to the chair, then her arms to the back, right at her biceps. She keeps her muscles flexed, hoping for a little slack.

"Let you go?" the man says from behind her now, a laugh bitter in his throat. "You belong to Him. You always have."

* * *

He left that guy for dead. He plowed his truck into another human being and he crushed him between two vehicles and then he tortured him-

and he doesn't even know the guy's name.

Castle left him for dead; he didn't even have the guts to put a bullet between his eyes and end his misery. And yes, partly he had wanted to leave him to suffer, but mostly, he couldn't finish the job.

He just got in his truck and sped off.

He's shot at people before; he's clipped shoulders, another guy's wrist to protect Kate. He's punched the stuffing out of hired killers. But he's never purposefully set out to murder someone. The boys told him - they warned him - and now he's cut himself off from their help with his actions. They're at the bridge by now; they've seen what he's done.

He's on his own. All he can do is keep driving, keep driving and get Kate. He's gone outside the law and the boys are looking for him and-

And Kate and their child are depending on him to make the smart choices here. To save them.

Oh God.

He just left a man for dead.

He can't pull over to vomit; he will have to just swallow

it

down._  
_

* * *

Castle needs help.

He's nearly to Jackson Heights, and he's just taking the directions to LaGuardia because he knows Roosevelt Avenue is somewhere around there, but-

It's foolish to think he can find this abandoned subway station all on his own. He needs directions, someone who won't ask questions but whose judgment he trusts. Not his daughter, they'll have gotten to his mother-

Densmere Security. He's paying them, right?

His palms sweat as he calls Densmere; Jack answers on the second ring.

"Sir."

"Jack, it's Richard Castle. I've got a location on my wife - I need your team to meet me there."

"Yes sir, you tell me where; we'll roll out."

"I don't have an address. I just know it's the Roosevelt Avenue Terminal Station; it's abandoned-"

"Yes sir, I'm calling that up right now. Abandoned in the mid 1900s. Upper level terminal station."

"Good, good. Thank you. God, I didn't know-" His head swims in relief, tunnel vision making the sunrise too pink in his eyes. "Okay. I need you to tell me how to get there."

"I can text you directions. Where are you now?"

"On the Van Wyck, approaching the junction where it turns into Grand Central Parkway. Coming from Atlantic Beach-"

"Okay, I'll get you directions off the Van Wyck. Sir? Says here that to reach the abandoned station, we'll have to go to the mezzanine and exit at the east end, marked 75th Street and Broadway. The passageway goes up a ramp and ends at cinderblock walls - just inside that walled area is the unused platform, as well as a Transit Police station."

"Transit Police?" he says, rubbing his jaw.

"If you okay it, that won't be a problem, sir."

"Hell yes, I okay it."

"Very good, sir. Me and my team will meet you there. I have a contact who takes tour groups to the unused stations - I'll get him to fill me in."

"Thank you," Castle breathes out, blinking hard. He can feel this thing coming to a close, his eyes gritty and dry with sleeplessness and anxiety. His stomach is a knot that's somehow caught in his throat. "Thank you."

"Yes sir. I'll message you all the information I get."

He can do this. He has a team now; he can do this.

* * *

Reading his phone with one hand and catching the right exit, Castle finally parks the truck about four blocks from the station, his body curled in against the cold spreading through him.

He pulls his coat on, the elephant back in its pocket, the gun in the ankle holster. The poor stuffed animal has no head, a tuft of stuffing pouring from its gaping neck, but he can't bear to toss it.

He checks the street slowly, tries to imagine a scenario in which they all survive, but he just can't.

He can't. His writer's brain is failing him, and he knows that means he's going to do something stupid, but he just doesn't see another way.

His eyes trail to the damn file, still in the envelope Smith sent it in, sitting unobtrusively in the passenger seat. He reaches out and snags it by a corner, pulls it over to him. He rests a hand heavily on the file, tries to breathe.

The man he left for dead on the bridge - he was going to take this from Castle. The Dragon doesn't care if Castle lives or dies, doesn't have to keep Kate alive either. In fact, he probably doesn't _want_ Kate alive.

If she-

He swallows hard and can't bring himself to look in the file. Like it would be bad luck. So long as he's kept his ignorance about who they're really up against, then she's alive. She's alive and waiting on him to find her.

Castle shoves the file up under the seat, pushing it in between the springs that hang down from the cushion, deciding to ignore it.

He glances down the street and then gets out of the truck, stepping into a brutal wind. It's been just at twelve hours since they took Kate, and he has no idea if she's even still alive.

Fuck, he will fucking murder every last one of them if she's gone. He will take this damn file and spread it all over the news, forget the police, forget the system - he will crucify every last one of them.

* * *

His hands are shaking and he shoves them into his coat pockets, feeling the soft, decimated elephant under his knuckles. His chest is tight with exhaustion; he has to fight back the sting of tears as the wind whips down the street.

He hunches into his coat and steps around a questionable substance on the sidewalk. He doesn't see the team from Densmere, but he can't wait on them. Jack said he'd text when they were in place, but he really can't - there's no more time. Kate's kidnappers are waiting on that file, and they'll starting wondering about their man back there on the bridge.

He walks faster, tugs one hand out of his pocket to rub fiercely at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He crosses 77th Street, heading towards Broadway and the abandoned station. It's early, but people are out in the cold morning light, hats and bulky coats making everyone seem threatening.

Yeah, shit, he's messed up. He can't keep his eyelids from scraping, his hands from shaking. The other night they stayed up late trying to get the last of the wood floors installed in the living room, and then Kate wanted to look at tile for the master bathroom, so they curled up in bed going through decorating sites.

He knows he fell asleep sometime around one, but she woke him a couple hours later with her mouth on his, her hands - oh shit, he can't think about this. He can't bear to think about it.

She's got insomnia all the time now; she says it's the pregnancy and it's better than morning sickness. If she doesn't get much sleep, then she doesn't have to throw-up. Terrible reasoning, but he's been trying to stay awake with her and it's miserable and exciting and it means that he hasn't had a full eight hours of sleep in weeks now.

He's got to keep it together.

Castle glances up and realizes he's already crossed 75th Street and Broadway is right ahead of him; the open subway station is right there.

No sign of the Densmere team, but if they were in Manhattan, traffic is going to be a bitch to get through. Who knows how far away they are.

He has to do this. They'll come eventually.

He slips the phone out of his pocket and texts Jack, lets the team leader know what he's doing.

And then he turns down the sound on his phone so it won't accidentally give him away.

He's going in.

* * *

At the mezzanine, he follows the instructions that Jack sent him, goes to the exit marked 75th Street and Broadway. The passageway is a wide ramp and completely deserted. Just like Jack said, it ends at cinderblock walls.

He's stumped for a long moment, staring at the obstacle before him, his brain not clicking over. He feels the weapon heavy and cold at his ankle, but it does him no good. He's just staring at the wall when he hears it.

A cavalcade of feet scraping against the concrete, the cold and clear voice of a man in charge and arrogant with it. In answer, another man replies, a voice Castle recognizes but can't place, tantalizingly out of his reach.

Castle stands stunned for a moment, then jerks away from the cinderblock wall, scrambles to one of the alcoves decoratively set just inside the passageway, presses himself into the corner. It's not even close to a hiding place, but the passageway here isn't lit well - bulbs are out and there's really no point anyway, since it leads to a dead end. He's in shadow, but if someone turns around and looks - he's a dead man.

He holds his breath and nearly gives himself away when the man and his entourage appear suddenly from that supposedly solid cinderblock wall, and then they begin to descend the ramp.

Castle stares, his jaw dropping.

It's the senator from New York and the fucking Chief of Detectives.

* * *

They pass him in the passageway - about six feet away and walking fast, and their conversation echoes on the tiles back to him.

"Did Walker radio in?"

"No sir. He hasn't. I'm monitoring the scanner though and there was a report of a vehicular homicide on the Atlantic Beach Bridge."

"Good. One down. You make sure Beckett's with me as soon as Walker calls in and says he has the file. And for God's sake, don't let her know we got rid of her husband. Who knows what worse she'll do."

"Yes sir."

"Are we on schedule for moving?"

"Last of it's being loaded. The guys are down there now."

"As soon as we have that file, we'll know every chink in the armor, every soft underbelly. And then we eradicate our weaknesses, Chief."

"Yes sir."

"I am sick to death of having this over me. You understand? This is the last of it. After this, no one stands in my way."

"Yes, sir."

"I want that woman. I want her to know. And then I will kill her myself."


	7. Chapter 7

**Ultimatum**

* * *

Castle waits as long as he dares and then he ascends the ramp where the Senator and the NYPD Chief of D's appeared from. He scans the area as he approaches but he just doesn't see it; there's nothing but cinder block and shadows and-

And then he walks right into the wall and through it into darkness.

Whoa.

Castle stumbles to a halt and waits for his eyes to adjust, but the black is complete. He must have gone through some doorway hidden in shadows, a perfect concealment, like something out of Indiana Jones.

It smells dank, like rats, and he strains his ears to listen.

Nothing.

He wonders if the guys surrounding the Chief and Senator were all the men, or if they've left guards. It sounded like they were moving? Loading something. So maybe he's gotten lucky and they've shifted to their new base of operations.

Castle fishes into his pocket for his phone, has to take the risk of letting its face light up and drive away the darkness. He sees the long tunnel carved into the cinderblock; it must travel right alongside the Transit Police's station.

He takes careful steps as he moves farther in, keeps the phone shielded as much as possible. He pulls the gun from the ankle holster and grips it tightly, leaving it aimed at the floor but ready.

He can hear his own breathing, loud in the silence, and he stops being so careful, starts going a little faster, rushing down the concrete corridor for whatever lies at the end of this tunnel.

Kate.

He knows she's here. She's here.

She has to be here.

* * *

The silence is more sinister than the previous sounds of the men working all around her.

They took the lights with them too. All but one that seems to be illuminating the exit; at least, she thinks that's where they all filed out of. She heard the swing of a metal gate, but it bounced when they left, so she thinks it's not locked.

One eye is swollen shut and she can't see so well out of the other; black spots swim in her vision - even when the bright work lights were on, she had patches of darkness.

She probes her lip carefully with her tongue, tastes blood. Her face throbs, her cheekbones feel cracked. She keeps very still; every movement is agony to her shoulder.

They duct taped her to another metal chair out in the middle of the cavernous room, her arms pulled back tightly, her face throbbing. But the team remained professional - no wandering hands, no acts of undeserved violence. The beating she got for attempting to escape was only justified, really, and her body still aches from it.

She's not sure if anyone else remains. Every time she tested the tape, flexed her hands, that one man came forward to slap her face, yank on her handcuffs so they cut into her wrists.

But it's so silent. It's so dark. Surely she's alone.

Slowly, Kate curls her fingers up, searching for the edge of the tape, breathing shallowly to keep her hand steady. She catches at the tape with her nail, misses, tries again. She closes her eyes to concentrate, bows forward to give herself some tension on the tape so that she might be able to leverage it off.

She can't get it.

She has to - she really has to. She absolutely _has_-

Was that the gate in the tunnel? Or just the vast darkness playing tricks on her? She has to get out of here.

She finds herself running her tongue over her split lip, again and again, and she stops, forces her fingers to go still, her body to relax. She's only making herself panic.

Her chest aches, but she takes a long breath in, fills her lungs until it hurts, and then she lets the air out slowly.

Okay. Try-

"Kate."

Her head jerks up at her broken name, her eyes turning blindly towards the exit-

"Castle?"

He's already there, his hands cupping her face, his body close and cold, the thick edge of his coat abrading her skin.

"Oh God," he moans. "Kate. We gotta get you out of here. We have to get you out of here-"

She can't breathe.

His hands hurt at her face, but he's stroking down her neck, her sides, the hesitant flutter over her abs that she won't - can't - think about, skimming her thighs, wrapping his fingers around the tape at her feet.

She leans as far as she can towards him, buries her face against his shoulder to keep from falling apart.

"Castle. Oh thank God, oh thank God, Castle."

* * *

He has to use both hands to rip at the duct tape around her legs, scrapes at the sticky edge that's pressed to her jeans. She's curled her body into his where she can, but her arms are bound somehow behind her; he keeps lifting a hand to stroke her hair back, press his mouth to the swollen edge of her cheek.

"You're okay, you're okay," he tells her, but he doesn't know. He doesn't know. He just wants to believe it.

His hands still shake; he rips a long ribbon of duct tape from her legs and she starts kicking out against the last of it.

"Hands, my hands," she murmurs urgently.

He shifts. His legs went a little numb, but he eases Kate away from him and moves behind her, starts unwrapping the tape from her arms. She hisses and jerks suddenly and he realizes he's caught skin.

"Sorry, God, I'm sorry-"

"Faster. I don't know when they'll come back. How in the hell did you find me?"

"I'll explain later. I've got a team coming-"

"The boys?" she breathes out, and he hears the catch in her lungs, doesn't like it.

"No. A security team."

"What?"

"Explain later," he says again, yanking another strip from around the metal rungs of the chair. "You okay?"

"Okay," she answers, but there's a lot in that answer that isn't an answer either.

He won't ask.

"Faster," she urges.

"They wrapped you like a Christmas present," he mutters, tugging at another strip.

"You mean like _you_ wrap a Christmas present?"

It's not funny, but it is, and it's Kate, and he can't even begin to think about the baby, about Christmas and-

Her fingers stroke his wrists, knowing and soothing all at once, and he leans his forehead against the back of the chair, takes a longer breath, and yanks on the duct tape.

"I've got my feet," she says, her voice high, jittery.

"Almost got this," he says back.

"Is that my gun?" she hisses.

"Yes." It's still on the concrete next to her chair where he left it when he came crashing to his knees in front of her. "I took it."

"Okay, okay, Castle - you need to keep it closer. Castle. I can't - my hands are behind me, so it's up to you-"

"I know. I got it," he says, but he does reach out and grab the gun, balance it on his thigh. He leans in and uses his teeth to rip at this one stubborn piece; her fingers curl around his chin and stroke along his throat, his jaw. He has to close his eyes a moment, and then he's got the last of the tape off.

She doesn't move. He grabs the gun tightly in one hand, then circles the chair and comes in front of her. "Kate."

"My arms are killing me. Can you - lift me up?"

"Yeah," he grunts, throat closing up. He doesn't know where to put his hands, the gun; she looks ready to break. "Kate. I - where-"

"I need to get my hands in front of me," she whispers, and he thinks her eyes are closed.

"Okay. I'm going to lift you off the chair," he says quietly, holstering the gun for now, then leaning in and sliding his arm under her knees, the other around her waist. She cants into him, jerks when her cheek hits his chin.

"Lift," she says, moving her head to press her forehead at his shoulder. "Go."

He lifts her up, kicks the chair away. He can hear it clatter along the concrete floor, and he feels her body stiff against his.

"Okay?" he murmurs.

"Help me get my hands in front of me. My shoulders - killing me."

"Okay, okay," he says, glances down at her closed eyes. He'd say forget it and try to carry her out of there, but he knows he needs a hand free for the gun. Just in case.

"Sit," she says. "On the floor. My hands should loop down my legs-"

"I got it," he whispers, presses his mouth to her ear, breathing her in. He sits down with her, cradles her at his chest. "You can't move your arms?"

"Not - not willingly," she grits out.

"Okay," he says, bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep it together. She does help though, rocking back and forth so he can work her cuffed hands down the back of her thighs, behind her knees.

She cringes, panting, and then lifts her knees so he can quickly draw her arms up in front of her.

She's trembling, a mewling noise at the back of her throat and he buries his face into the back of her neck, arms wrapped around her from behind. "Kate. Oh, Kate. Kate, we've got to go. We've got to get out of here."

"I'm okay," she moans. Struggles a little in his arms. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Castle help me up."

He keeps an arm wrap around her ribs and stands up, taking her with him. She stumbles, leaning heavily, but she's still shivering.

He grips her tighter, shrugs one arm out of his coat, switches his hold on her so he can remove the other. He gently pulls his coat over her shoulders, tugs the lapels close.

"The gun," she says, swaying in front of him.

Castle keeps a hand on her, propping her up, then reaches down to the ankle holster and takes out her weapon, holds it against his thigh as he stands again.

"Okay," he says, and she tilts her head up to him, an eye sliding halfway open. Her face looks terrible, swollen and puffy, split lip, blood hardened in a line down her neck.

"Okay," she says back, and cracks a smile, as far as her mouth will let her.

"I go first," he says, and takes her by her cuffed hands.

* * *

They get as far as the exit, the metal gate he came through where the lone work lamp still burns, before their luck runs out.

Kate hears the double click of a detachable cartridge sliding home in an assault rifle, feels Castle freeze in front of her. Her fingers curl in his belt loop; she sways on her feet but can't see around him.

His hand is hanging on to her by the pocket of his coat around her, his grip is heavy. "Kate," he says, his voice barely audible.

"I heard it," she breathes back, curses the cuffs still on her hands.

"Ahead of us."

"Mm," she agrees, but she doesn't know for sure. There was more of the platform past them, farther away from the exit, and she knows they were moving crates from that end-

She feels Castle bring the weapon up in front of them, but at that same moment, the voice comes out to them in the darkness of the tunnel.

"I have an infrared scope and a bead on your wife's head. Drop your weapon."

The gun clatters to the concrete floor and Kate groans. "Castle," she hisses.

He's already swinging her around in front of him, putting his body between hers and the voice in the darkness behind them.

"Well. Now I have my sights on you, Mr. Castle. That just might be a fair trade."

Her fingers are cold and numb, her body still shaking, but Kate slowly, carefully bends her knees, hidden by the bulk of Castle's body, her hand out for the gun.

"I have the file," Castle calls out. "You want the file, right? All I want is my wife."

In the silence, Kate feels the grip of the gun, exalts to herself as she curls her fingers around it.

"I don't think we can do that, Mr. Castle."

"Then fucking shoot me already," he growls.

Kate growls at him even as she moves to stand, agonizingly slowly as she tries to keep from showing up on the guy's infrared scope.

"But you can't shoot me, can you?" Castle continues. "You can't see me any more than I can see you-"

"Castle," she hisses, kicking at his foot with hers to make him shut the hell up. Of course the guy can see them; how else did he know their positions?

"Are you seriously trying to taunt me, Mr Castle?"

_Exactly_, she thinks, shifting towards Castle's back, her ears straining. If she can get a bead on the guy's direction, then maybe she can take him out. . .

"I'd drop you right here, but I'm afraid that would make your wife entirely uncooperative," he says, and the words echo in the tunnel, elude her.

"I've got a team on their way," Castle stalls. "They've probably already gotten the rest of your guys. You're all alone down here. Just-"

"I doubt that. Now. Walk back this way." His voice is just bouncing sound waves; she can't get a lock on him. "Or I will have no compunction about seriously maiming both of you. No matter what my boss says."

"No," Castle says loudly, a note of desperation in his voice that Kate doesn't like. He's got a hand behind his back now and is shoving on her, pushing her away. His head turns slightly. "Go, Kate. Go."

"No," she cries out, the word pulled from her lips on a soft exhale.

He shoves again, hard, and she stumbles back.

"Run, Kate. Please."

And it hits her - it's not that he's trying to protect her, not that he's saving her life.

It's the baby. He's choosing the baby.

"Kate. _Go._"

But all she can think-

All she knows is-

she's completely unwilling to make that choice. Not here, not now. She won't.

She won't choose.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ultimatum**

* * *

Kate doesn't go.

He growls in his throat, silently begs her to just _go_, but she doesn't. He takes a cautious step forward, hoping to spur her on, but instead she follows him.

"Good job. Both of you. That's right," the voice calls out in the darkness.

His heart is like a stone in his chest as he leads them both back down the tunnel.

"Go, Kate," he pleads, his voice barely making it out of his throat, soft and desperate and breaking. "Please, Kate. Please go."

She says nothing in return, nothing.

She just follows him back to a certain death.

* * *

They come out of the tunnel, through the gate, and past the glare of the work lamp; she's prepared for it, kept her eyes closed and her hand tangled in Castle's shirt so that when they come back out into the darkness of the platform, she's retained some of her night vision.

Castle stumbles a little, and she makes certain to keep the gun out of sight. She can faintly see the shadowed edge of her kidnapper farther down the platform, and he's got an AK-47 braced against his shoulder, his eye against the scope.

She keeps half behind Castle, and they stop right in the opening of the tunnel, waiting.

"Keep coming," he says. "Head for the chair."

She swallows hard and adjusts her body to keep the gun hidden, feels Castle moving slowly. If she can get a clear shot, angle to the side maybe-

He doesn't lift his head from the scope; he'd get off his shot before she ever had a chance, and she knows he's aiming for Castle.

For some reason, the Dragon wants her around. If only to destroy her.

She struggles to breathe past it, wracks her brain to come up with an answer, a way out of this, but she's got nothing. It is all a big nothing.

When they get to the chair, the kidnapper lifts his head slightly, begins walking towards them.

"Back in the chair, Kate."

She curses Castle when he steps in front of her again, blocking her view. "No," he says clearly. "We had a deal. The file for Kate."

"Deal's off."

"You sent your guy to kill me," Castle hisses. "You were never going to honor the deal."

"Not my honor we're talking about. Get in the chair, Kate."

If she sits in the chair, she's done. The gun is held in front of her, the handcuffs limiting her so severely, but if she can just - there has to be a way. There _has_ to be a way out of this.

"In the chair, Beckett. Right now. Or I put a fucking bullet in your husband's stomach and you can watch him bleed to death from a gut shot."

Her heart squeezes.

Kate pushes the gun into Castle's back, shoves it down his pants even as she's moving for the chair. He stiffens, his head coming to look at her, pleading still, but she won't. She won't. She's not doing that. She is _not_ doing that.

She just has to buy some time.

There will be a way. She almost made it out of here twice on her own; she is not watching him die violently and in extreme pain from the bullet wound to the stomach.

She's not.

* * *

The despair is like a black wave over him; it makes everything sharp with darkness. He can only stare at Kate as she sits back down in the chair, off-center from where it was before since he kicked it away. She has to press her hands between her knees because they're trembling; he can see her pointedly not looking at him.

He's got the gun in the waistband of his pants.

"Back away, Mr. Castle."

He doesn't want to. He won't.

But Kate's leveling him with a glare so fierce he takes an involuntary step backwards, then keeps going because it hits him what she's done.

She gave him the gun.

He shuffles farther back even as the man comes closer, gun still trained on them, but as Castle moves, there's no way for the guy to keep them both covered.

He backs away quickly now, sees the pleased note in Kate's eyes as he does.

Castle gets ready, fingers flexing, body tense, and waits for the exact right second. He lets his hand drift behind his back.

There is a moment when the guy is passing between them, the gun now wholly trained on Kate, where the kidnapper must realize, must suddenly comprehend, because Castle sees the twitch of the man's eye an instant before Castle puts a bullet sideways through his skull.

The body drops.

A rush of noise in his ears, Kate is kicking away the assault rifle and bending over the body, checking for a pulse but there can't be much left. The guy's brains are splattered all over the concrete, flecks of red and pink on Kate's neck, her jeans.

Castle's hands are shaking now too.

And then the noise in his head crescendoes and a swarm of men are crawling over the platform, coming down the tunnel, coming through the same way the kidnapper did, all these men in durable black, guns drawn, surrounding them.

Kate backs up into his chest and he trembles, staring at the army facing them down, and then a man steps forward.

"Mr. Castle, sir? I'm Jack. I'm your contact agent at Densmere Security. Looks like you took care of it alone."

His grip on the weapon slackens.

"I had Kate's help," he answers inanely, feeling so numb with relief he could fall over.

* * *

Inside the secure perimeter, he takes a moment to hold her against his body, both of them trembling as they wait for the EMTs. She's got a death grip on his biceps, her face pressed to his neck, and he tries to keep from voicing the dark thoughts drowning him.

He knows they're drowning her too.

"Castle!"

He jerks apart from her but she sways into him as he turns. Esposito is bearing down on them, Ryan following behind, their faces both furious.

"Richard Castle, you are in deep shit," Esposito growls, but his eyes flick once to Beckett as if to reassure himself. "Rockman is out for blood. He knows that was you on the bridge."

Kate clutches his arms, fingers tightening hard enough to bruise. He ignores the soft breath of his name on her lips and shakes his head at Esposito.

"Your friend is an ass." He doesn't even care, can't even care because he still doesn't know if his family - Kate looks battered, but there's no way of knowing-

"He may be an ass, but he's gone to Gates and gotten a warrant for your arrest."

"Castle," she groans. "What did you do?"

"Nothing I wouldn't do again-"

She presses her hand over his mouth, her eyes dark and breaking open. "Don't say anything. Don't say a word. You understand me? Don't say anything."

"What do you mean?" he frowns, but already he feels Esposito tugging on his arm. "Lay off," he growls, turning to the man.

"You have to come with us," Esposito says.

"Like hell I do. Kate-"

"Beckett will be fine. The bus was just behind us."

"She's got to go to the hospital," Castle gets out, his voice like gravel. "I need to be there."

"She's gonna be fine. I bet she probably doesn't even want to go to the hospital, do you, Beckett?" He gives Kate a brotherly grin that neither of them return. Espo shakes his head. "Probably just to make you happy. But, bro, you need to come with us. You turn yourself in and it goes better for you. You know the drill."

His eyes meet Kate's. She doesn't want to face this alone; he doesn't want her to have to. He should be there; he needs to be there. "I need to go with you," he scrapes out, not sure who he's talking to.

"Castle," she shakes her head, winces. He feathers his fingers against the bruising at her cheek, her swollen and split lip. "You need to go with them."

"I'm not leaving you. You can't do this alone," he says quietly.

"I'll stay with Kate," comes a voice.

He goes rigid with disbelief, but Kate is stroking her fingers over his biceps and turning her battered face to meet Alexis.

His daughter is pushing her way through the crowd of security guys and police officers. "I'll go with Kate to the hospital. Dad." Her eyes are on Kate's first, for permission, and then they slide to his, intense and sharply blue, indomitable. "Dad. I will let you know. First thing."

"Alexis," he gets out, feels like all the air has been sucked out of his chest, out of the world.

She comes into him, forcing an embrace, and he lifts an arm and drops it heavily over her shoulders, watches stunned as Kate pets Alexis's hair, the three of them in a strange embrace. Alexis turns and hugs Kate, gently, obviously being careful of the bruises, the swelling, and then she takes Kate's hand and holds on.

"I've got her. Dad, you need to go. You're in - it's bad. It's bad."

He opens his mouth to explain, to tell his daughter why he had to, why he's not a terrible person, but Kate still has a hand on his bicep and she digs her nails into his skin.

"Keep your mouth shut. Don't talk. Not even to the boys. You hear me? I'll call the lawyer; it'll be fine. We'll do whatever we have to do."

"It'll get cleared up, Castle," Esposito says. Ryan is silent behind him, but he's nodding too, looking hopeful.

Castle turns back to his daughter, sees her expectation, her need. He can't - he doesn't know what to think about this. She was the one who said she couldn't be part of this; she was the one who said he was putting his life in jeopardy and she couldn't do it anymore.

Much like his ultimatum to Kate, four years ago, when she'd been chasing after a sniper, Alexis had issued the same to him. He just couldn't-

"Dad. Please. I'm sorry. Please-"

He collars her around the neck and brings her in close for a kiss to her forehead, his eyes on his wife. Kate gives him a faint smile, lips barely moving, but he knows this is because of her. Apparently she's been talking to his daughter behind his back.

"I'll let you know, Dad. I'll let you know. . .everything, soon as I know," Alexis says.

He nods once, clears his throat. "Okay, Espo. You the one gonna read me my rights?"

But Ryan steps forward, gives him an awkward half-shrugging smile. "I drew the short straw. Richard Castle. You're under arrest for fleeing the scene of an accident, reckless endangerment, and vehicular homicide-"

He feels the shock travel through Kate, but Esposito is already leading him away.

* * *

He's cuffed to the table like a serial killer, the shackles on either side, his hands pressed flat to the cool top.

His heart is racing. Kate crowds his mind, but other things are pushing in at him too - the man he left for dead, the way the bones crunched against the front of the truck, the shower of stuffing as the baby elephant exploded.

Rockman enters the interrogation room first. It's been hours or - Castle can't tell. He knows the interrogation room techniques better than most, but knowledge doesn't stop the psychological effects.

He's nervous. When he's nervous, he opens his mouth and talks.

He can't talk. He _knows_ he can't talk.

He's gonna do something stupid, he can just tell.

All he can think about is Kate. Five weeks. It's only been five weeks, and already he can't bear to think they've lost it so soon. Not to this, not to this damn case that won't leave them alone.

He has the file. He still has the file. In the truck, which he didn't even get a chance to-

"We found the truck, Mr. Castle," Rockman starts off with.

Oh, whoa. Okay. So the file goes into evidence. Oh shit, the file goes into evidence. He's got to - they've got to - he _can't_ keep his mouth shut on this, can he? The fucking Chief of Detectives-

But who says Rockman isn't in that file?

It was foolish of him to think that ignorance would keep them safe. He should've known, after what happened on the bridge, that there was no way left to them. Their old deal is long gone, ground to dust, and now he's the only one who knows the people behind this.

"The grill of your Ford is messy, Mr. Castle. Streaked in blood, pieces of flesh, intestines. Soon as I got video from the traffic cams, I knew I was booking you. This whole thing has been so cleverly orchestrated by you, hasn't it?"

Rockman's goading him. Trying to make him lash out, defend himself. He can't. He can't say a damn word, or else this could be threaded around him like a noose.

Self-defense, but he's got no defense if he opens his mouth. _Keep your mouth shut, Castle._

"So what is it, Rick? You got tired of your cop wife? Wanted to get her out of the way? Maybe the two of you set this up, make it look like a kidnapping, only the kidnappers start actually blackmailing you. So you run him over in your truck."

Yeah, so it's getting really damn hard not to open his mouth and blast this guy. He _kidnapped his own wife?_ What the hell?

"I heard the ransom demand, Castle. What the hell did he want? A file. What's that about, huh? Not money, but a file. Must be pretty damn important. Have your pre-nup in it?"

It's so preposterous that Castle is beginning to think maybe Rockman really is in that file. He hid it under the seat, but it's tucked up under the springs. It's possible Rockman is still looking for that damn file.

That's what this is all about, isn't it?

Rick has to get that file. Someone has to get to it before the Chief of Detectives can make it magically disappear. It's not like rescuing Kate from these guys is going to stop anything - he heard the Senator with his own ears - he and Kate are the sword dangling over the Senator's neck.

It all has to come out. No more secrets, no more deals.

"I'll write out a full confession," Castle says suddenly. "But I do it for Ryan and Esposito. The two of them only. No one watching in the observation room. No one listening in. Just the two of them. Or nothing."

Rockman looks pissed, but the one-way mirror starts to tremble under the force of a commanding fist. Gates, has to be. Maybe even Esposito.

He keeps the grim satisfaction off his face and closes his eyes. He knows he can trust the boys; he knows it.

Right? He can trust them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ultimatum**

* * *

She lies curled on her side with his coat still around her, waiting. Just waiting. They haven't done a CT scan, haven't taken her back for X-rays, and they won't until the results of the ultrasound are known.

Even then, a CT scan can be dangerous. She's not sure she wants one done. Even with shielding, she-

But her head is killing her, her body aches with pulsing beats in time to her heart. She wants Castle, she wants him here, but she knows she can't have him.

Oh God, he's - what did he do? What did he do.

Alexis comes back into the room with ice, hurries around to the side of the bed. "Kate. Here. At least you can put it on your lip. Your cheek."

She takes it with a wince of thanks, gingerly presses the bag of ice to her face, hissing at the contact.

Alexis hovers, just like her father would, her fingers darting out to gently pull the hair out of Kate's face, stroke it back. "You should take off the coat," Alexis says softly.

They got her into a hospital gown, but she hates those gowns and she hates being cold and his coat smells like him. Kate switches her grip on the ice and plunges her hand into the pocket of his coat, pulling it closer around her body.

Her fingers meet fluff, or cotton, soft, and she frowns, closing her hand around something in his pocket.

"What's-"

She pulls it out and stares.

It's like a punch to the gut. Her baby elephant, a mess, ripped apart. Tears slip out of her eyes before she can stop them, and she realizes that the jagged edge of the elephant's neck is bloodied.

She puts her hand back into his pocket and feels it there too, sticky, mostly dried, but blood. Definitely blood.

What the hell happened?

"Mrs. Castle?"

Her head jerks to the door where a nurse has just come through, chart in hand. The woman passes it back to the next person coming in and Kate's chest tightens at the sight of her own OB doctor.

"Hey there, Kate," she says, smiling at her. Not too wide, like she could be hiding something, but just enough, just enough, and Kate takes in a stuttering breath, curls the elephant into her chest, tries to sit up.

"And who is this?"

"My step-daughter," she says mechanically, can't take her eyes off the doctor. "Alexis."

"Hey there, Alexis. Well now, Kate, I've looked at the video of the ultrasound, and checked your vitals, and I feel confident in saying everything looks good."

The ice pack falls from her fingers and she presses her hand over her eyes, but it's no use. The tears push right out, slipping down her face and tasting salty in the corners of her mouth.

"Alexis," she gets out, darting her other hand out to snag at the girl's arm. "Call your father. Wait, no, go down there. Go to the 12th and tell him. Please-"

"Yes, of course. Of course. Oh God, Kate, I'm so glad-"

Kate feels the girl's kiss against her hair and hugs his daughter back, her whole body light and painless and _everything looks good, everything looks good._

* * *

He sweats in the chair.

They've turned off the damn air conditioning, haven't they? What the hell, this isn't a hostage negotiation. And the lawyer? He hasn't been given counsel or even a phone to call. Can't be legal.

He's got the boys out at forensics getting the file - he took the paper Esposito gave him to write his confession, and he slipped them a note while he talked nonsense about the truck. He was trying to give them a reason to go down there, as if they needed to corroborate some piece of his confession.

He has no idea if the ploy worked, but he does know that he's still handcuffed.

Ryan apologized about the cuffs at least.

Through the window in the door, Castle has seen Captain Gates walk past at least twice now. Her face is thoughtful, not vengeful, so he doesn't think she's merely trying to punish him for marrying her best detective.

Of course, Gates doesn't know that Kate is pregnant. That might change some things. If-

He swallows hard and bows his head, tries to keep from crying. Won't do, not here. They'll think he's showing remorse or something stupid like that.

The door opens and his head comes up.

"Alexis?" His own voice tastes like grit. "What are you-"

"Everyone's okay," she breathes out, rushing towards him. Gates is at her back though, and she clears her throat; it makes Alexis stop. His daughter sits down at the table in front of him, Gates in the room with them. "Kate's fine. Dad. Do you understand me? Fine. All good."

He moves to bury his head in his hands, but the handcuffs rattle and jerk him back; he tries to breathe through it, head hanging eyes squeezed shut, as he hears the joy in his daughter's voice.

"She's okay. They were trying to convince her to get an X-ray on her cheek. She-" Alexis stiffens and turns around to look at Gates. "Can you excuse us, please? I'm trying to talk to my father about personal medical information. You have no right to stand there and listen."

"He's an-"

"He's my father."

Castle carefully doesn't look at Gates, keeps his eyes on the table, and after a moment, the door is shut behind the Captain. He lets out a long breath, chuckling a little at his daughter's imperious face.

"She doesn't like you, but at least she doesn't hate you," Alexis says.

He uncurls his fist and wriggles his fingers; Alexis immediately takes his hand with a little grin, that smile of his little girl again.

"She's really okay?" Castle says softly.

Alexis nods. "Her doctor was there when I left. Kate wanted me to come down and tell you in person, otherwise I wouldn't have left her. I promise, Dad, I wouldn't have-"

"I know," he says, nodding at her, curling his fingers around hers. "I know. Careful what you say in here, pumpkin. Okay?"

She takes in a sharp breath, her eyes darting around the room, but she comes back to him, her gaze intense, bright.

"You haven't called me pumpkin in years," she says, her voice catching.

He flushes, strokes his thumb along her fingers. "You told me not to."

"I know," she says softly. "Kate's been. . .keeping me up to date. On everything."

"She gave you a key," he grunts, swallowing against the idea that the two of them were conspiring against him.

"And she told me about. . .your little elephant," Alexis says, giving him an eyebrow.

Now he gets it. It just came to him. He made some stupid joke at the precinct like two weeks ago, just him and Kate, and he was pretending to make her coffee, and what did he say? Something about the baby being the elephant in the room, the thing they weren't talking about because they were keeping it between them until the first trimester was up.

That's why she bought the elephant. He grins, can't help it, feels it splitting his face wide. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me yourself, Dad?"

"I thought we weren't spreading it around," he says quietly, then gives her a pointed look. He really can't talk about that when he knows Gates has got to be watching, listening.

Alexis looks upset, like this is the last strike. But what was he supposed to do?

"Alexis, you were the one who said I had to stop crowding you. And then you were the one who said you couldn't be a part of this family if I was going to risk everything-"

"I know what I said," she cries out, pressing the heel of her hand to her eye. "I was stupid, I was trying to make you - I don't know. I'm more like my mother than I want to be," she says, her voice sounding hollow.

Shit. "Alexis. No. Alexis, look at me." Damn these handcuffs. He needs to hug his daughter. He hasn't been able to have a real conversation with her in years. It's been a phone call a month maybe and her polite inquiries, but nothing real.

"I was being petty and manipulative and I'm a bitch, I know it; I'm so sorry, Dad-"

"Alexis, stop," he growls, tightening his hand around hers, crushing her fingers. "Stop. You're not your mother. You learned it from me, if anyone. Alexis. Look at me."

She lifts her face, tears trembling in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall.

"Pumpkin, it's just - I don't do it because I'm trying to hurt you. Can't you see now that it has to be done? Someone has to stop them. I tried, Alexis, we both tried. We kept out of it. Kate told you, didn't she? We were trying, Alexis, and I thought it would be enough, but it's not-"

"I know, I know that now," Alexis sighs. She lifts up from the table and leans forward, kissing his cheek, her hand tightening on his. "You were right. It still makes me crazy that you're putting yourselves in danger, both of you, Dad - you and Kate both - but it was worse this year not knowing, not even knowing. I thought it would be easier if I washed my hands of it, but it's terrible."

"Come here and give me a hug," he gets out gruffly. "I can't-"

She's already wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing, her hair in his mouth, her body nearly rocking the chair back.

The door opens and he can just see Gates past his daughter's form hunched over him. She comes inside and he closes his eyes, wills her away, banished; he just wants this moment with his daughter, both of them forgiven, forgiving.

He feels fingers at his wrist and jerks his head down to where Gates is unlocking the cuffs. He stares at her for a second, and then he's able to wrap both arms around his daughter and hold on.

"I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, pumpkin."

Gates stands sentinel in the open doorway.

* * *

He's sent Alexis back to stay with Kate through whatever else comes next, so he's surprised when the door opens up not five minutes later.

"Who took his damn cuffs off?"

It's Rockman, looking frustrated, with Esposito coming in behind him. Castle meets Javier's eyes and gets a quick head nod.

Ah good, good. He can breathe again-

Esposito is jerking his head towards Rockman, raising both eyebrows, and Castle grows hot, furious in a way he didn't expect.

So Rockman _is_ in the file.

Castle turns narrowed eyes on the detective and leans forward, carefully lacing his fingers together under the table to keep from getting to his feet and punching the guy.

"Castle, you've given us nothing. You said you'd confess, but all you did was give a rambling account of how you purchased the truck. It does establish chain of possession, so I thank you for that, but-"

"That'll be enough, Detective," Gates says sharply. Castle turns his head and sees her coming into the interrogation room, Ryan behind her.

His heart races as Rockman gives Gates a furious, impotent look. "This is my case-"

"If it's a homicide, it's not yours. You're not a homicide detective. But more than that, Detective Rockman, you're under arrest."

Castle sinks back with a choked laugh, wiping his hand over his face even as Ryan comes up to Rockman with handcuffs. For a moment, it looks like Rockman is going to fight, but Esposito grips him, hard it looks like from here, and turns him around.

Ryan starts reading him his miranda rights even as the two partners lead out the other man. Gates stands in front of the table and eyes Castle.

"You'll have to go up in front of IAB, since you're a civilian consultant, but it'll be ruled self-defense. Same for the man we found in the tunnel."

Castle slumps forward, hands pressed to his knees to keep his body from sliding right out onto the floor. "Thank you."

"Better thank your buddies out there. Ryan pulled a number of slugs out of the grill of the truck. Esposito found a file under the seat of your vehicle which includes the names of everyone on the Senator's payroll. Including, as I'm sure you know, the Chief of Detectives and Rockman there."

"But not you," he says, lifting his eyes to Gates. "Your name's not in that file."

She seems genuinely shocked by his comment.

He shrugs. "What else am I supposed to think? Dragon's out to get us. So when my wife's boss is too, I can't help-"

"My name is not in that file," Gates says, her voice heated. First time he's ever gotten a real rise out of her.

"Good," he says back, keeping a lock on her stare, not backing down.

She narrows her eyes but she gives a short nod. "You're free to go, Mr Castle, but you can't leave the city."

"Wasn't planning on it," he quips, darting to his feet.

His body stumbles, swaying, and suddenly Captain Gates's hands are at his shoulders, propping him up.

"Go to the hospital. We'll let you know when we need you for the internal investigation."

"Yeah." He wants to get out of here, see his wife.

Kate.

And his little elephant.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ultimatum**

* * *

Alexis has gone to look for food; Kate's starving and her stomach rolls with it. She needs something to dull the edge. She needs sleep, but that's not likely. She's exhausted but wide awake. She's had insomnia for weeks now, and it's come back to bite her now.

Her cheek is throbbing. It's not broken, according to the X-rays, but the ice burns and she left it off, so that now her face is hot with pain. The place where the ER attendant cleaned the cut on the back of her calf feels scalded raw, and it throbs. Her shoulder - she's so tired - her shoulder just needs to pop back into place or shift a ligament somewhere because she just wants to _sleep_ and she could just - really - she could cry.

Kate takes in a long breath, feels it shuddering in her chest, but at that moment, Castle walks through the door.

She jerks upright, a hand held out for him, but he's already stumbling across the room, enclosing her in a tight embrace, his mouth at hers, too hard, it hurts, but she laughs and clutches at his ears to pull him off her.

"Face hurts," she murmurs, smiling at him, making it worse. He strokes his thumb over her cheek gently, crowds her in the bed.

"The baby," he breathes out, his hands skirting her ribs, thumbs stroking over her belly button. It's the first time anyone has called it what is is, has said it with such love and reverence. The baby. "Elephant's okay?"

She feels the tears now, dripping again, and she reaches between them to get a hand up, swipe at her uninjured cheek. "Yeah, yeah, all good. Everything's good."

He closes his arms around her again, squeezing, and she lets out a long breath, her chin digging into his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut.

"What happened to my stuffed animal, Castle?"

He pulls back then, gives her a sheepish look. "Got shot. Actually. Hold on." He gets up off the bed and heads for the door, leans around the frame and grabs something which he keeps behind his back before coming towards her again.

"The elephant got shot?" she hisses at him, and it makes her lip split again. She growls and grabs the ice, holds it against her face for a second as Castle sinks back down on the bed.

He pulls his hand out from behind his back and presents her with a gift.

She drops the ice and reaches for it, the tiny little thing, pale grey and nearly white, huge ears, happy little eyes, the trunk long and goofy. It's so soft. Kate brings out the old one, ripped up and headless and terrible, frowns at the two together, lifts her eyes to Castle.

"You know it's only - only okay because we didn't lose-" She shakes her head, can't continue, but he knows; he's leaning in and kissing her so very softly, on the cheek, his lips like eyelashes.

"I know. I'd never be able to replace the little thing."

"Can we - I want to get this one fixed," she murmurs, thumb circling the hole where the head should be, the ripped edges. She had Alexis clean the blood off of it, but it's - it breaks her heart.

"Yeah, yeah, let's do that. It's knit or crocheted or something, right? We can have it fixed."

"Not just get a new one," she sighs.

"No. Not a new one. I thought you'd like a get well soon elephant, that's all-"

"I do, I like it. No, I know," she says quickly, curling her fingers around both the little things, so small in her hands. She lifts her eyes to him, tries to smile. "Who says we're only having one, anyway?"

He startles so hard that he nearly falls into her. "What?"

She laughs, feels the sound of it scraping her throat. "Not at _one time_, Castle. I mean - in the future."

He laughs back, rubs a hand down his face. "Okay, wow. Okay, you kinda just - knocked me over there."

"Get over yourself," she laughs again, and it feels good, feels so good. They're okay. They're all okay, and it's fine to joke about having two baby elephants and it's fine for Castle to just buy a new one, like he thinks money should always fix things, because it's okay, it's okay.

The baby is okay.

He cups her face and kisses the corner of her mouth, away from her split lip, away from her bruised and swollen cheek. His touch is hot, no longer reverent or gentle, just the fire of his need flashing over her.

She moans and curls an arm up around his neck, the injured shoulder still pressed tight to her body but her fingers coming up between them, brushing against his neck. The two little elephants stay in her lap, light and barely felt. He kisses her again, leans her back against the bed, and then he crawls in after her.

"Sleep, Kate. I want you to sleep."

"Can't," she growls. "Can't sleep." She half turns on her back, her eyes lifted as she shakes her head. "I'm just - it's-"

He shifts to hover over her, leans his head down to lay a kiss over her eyebrow. "I know. It's over, Kate. It's over."

"But it's not," she groans, the elephants tucked up in the crook of her elbow now, a hand coming to her eye. "It's not over. It won't ever be over. He'll never let me - and I've dragged you down into it, and Alexis and this baby and-"

"No, no Kate. No." He brushes his thumb against her neck, reaches up and tugs her hand away from her face. "I should've said - I didn't want to bring it all up, but I should've told you-"

"Told me what?"

He looks so worn out, so terribly wounded, like something in him - some deep and dark place - has been broken. It will be a long time before it's fixed. She waits for him to find words for whatever he wants to say, brushes her fingers over the dark ridge of his eyebrow as the shadows meet under his eyes.

He - apparently - did something terrible for her. She can see it, now that she's looking.

But he shakes it off, a kind of satisfied light in his tight smile. "The boys arrested Lance Rockman and the Chief of Detectives a few hours ago. They were in the file. Along with the name and illegal activities of one other man - the Senator from New York-"

"What?" she gasps, sitting upright so fast she knocks her forehead into his chin. She winces, feels him catch her as she sways, adrenaline pounding her heart and making her jittery. She stares at him. "Castle. Senator _North-_"

"Yeah. The Dragon is - not quite slain, then at least on his way. The file is pretty damaging. It's what he wanted from us when he kidnapped you."

"Oh my God." Senator Mitchell North, their US Senator - former mayor of New York, former DA - the bastard behind this all. Killed her mother and so many others.

The Dragon that wanted to ruin her life, that nearly did-

Kate flops back down in the bed, her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.

He lies down beside her, waits on her, but she doesn't know what to say.

It's finally over.

Kate turns over in bed, body rippling with pain as she does, but she brings her arms up between them, the baby elephants crushed as she comes in close. He slides an arm low over her waist, and she presses her uninjured cheek against him, breathing slowly.

His voice is soft when it comes, hesitant with unknowing. "Kate?"

"It's done."

He strokes his fingers lightly up her back, through her hair to her scalp. He massages the back of her neck, cards his fingers through her hair to untangle it, then goes back to pushing at the muscles in her nape, working drowsiness down into her bones.

It's done, and she knows exactly what she wants, is so very grateful that Castle never let her put their lives on hold for this. She's already firmly rooted in their family, their love; she doesn't feel that letdown of being finished, over with an obsession, like she expected.

It's just an end note to the closure she's already managed to work out for herself.

Kate melts against him, deep breaths coming in and out, and then her hand clutches around his bicep, makes him still. She presses her mouth there, the softness of his shirt, the firmness it sheaths, erotic and beautiful, and she feels him shiver.

It's over.

"The baby," she sighs, and then she falls asleep before she can finish whatever that sentence was going to be.

* * *

The sunlight pours into their home, the front foyer awash in pale morning yellow.

"How's my Ele?" he murmurs, leaning over her to look at the unrelenting flatness of her abs, encircling her and fitting her body back into his.

She raises her hand behind her to curl her fingers in his hair; he kisses the inside of her arm but doesn't stop making slow circles on her stomach.

And then she grips his hair, hard, and tugs him away. "Castle. That's too sickly sweet, even for you. Even the baby is rolling her eyes at you."

He chuckles and squirms out of her grip, imagining the little thing rolling its eyes, but he turns as the door slams shut. Alexis stands in the threshold of their brownstone awkwardly, Kate's bag in her hand, her eyes not quite meeting his. Their drive home from the hospital was so silent. He straightens up from Kate and heads for his daughter.

"Thanks, pumpkin," he murmurs, taking Kate's bag from her. "Did you find your room upstairs? Before."

She nods, her gaze meeting his with a sudden intensity that has him crouching closer, enclosing her in an embrace.

"Dad," she mutters, as if to shrug him off, but she doesn't.

"What's wrong?" he whispers, not sure if she wants him to pry but unable to let go of her. He's got his daughter back, shaky and strange as it seems to still be.

"You made me a room," she moans, and it doesn't sound that good. It sounds like she's upset. Why is she upset?

"Um. You can change it. It doesn't have to be blue and green - I just thought you-"

"Not what she means, Castle," his wife says, slipping up beside them and hooking two fingers in the pocket of his jeans, tugging a little. He opens an arm to her and she joins the hug, cradling the back of Alexis's head before kissing her temple.

"What does she mean?" he stage whispers, raising an eyebrow. His daughter laughs, which was his intent, and then she pulls back, swiping at her cheeks with a thumb like she's not really crying at all and if she wipes the tears daintily, they won't exist.

"I mean. You picked me out a room and went to the trouble of decorating it and painting it and I was in the middle of giving you the silent treatment for no good reason but you still-"

"Oh. I still loved you, you mean? Well, of course I did. Do." He rolls his eyes at her, reaches out to tweak her hair. "Even the baby is rolling her eyes at you."

At least Kate laughs at that.

Alexis knocks his hand away, pushes on his shoulder. "Not that - I know you love me, and I know you know I love you. I mean - you were being nice to me and I didn't even deserve it. _Kate_ has been nice to me and I don't deserve it. You didn't even - I thought for sure you guys talked bad about me for being a brat but you were painting my room instead."

Kate's turn to look astonished. "Talk bad about you?" She turns her head to him, sharing his surprise, and then she gets a look in her eye he knows all too well - determination and steel and a dash of wickedness. She turns back to his daughter. "Oh, he tried the trash talk. I wouldn't let him. Plus, you know your dad, he's kinda awful at it."

Alexis issues a startled laugh, her eyes widening, and then she looks at him. He just shrugs. That's Kate for ya.

His daughter's eyes soften, some of that misery leaving them. She's always been her own worst enemy, punishing herself when she didn't need it. He doesn't have to rake her over the coals for being a brat and issuing demands she had no right to. She'll do it enough for the both of them. For all three of them.

"Thank you for my room," she says softly. "My flight leaves the day after tomorrow. Maybe while I'm here, I can - maybe I can help you guys paint his room?"

Kate is still doing the talking for him, letting him get past the emotionalism of having Alexis here. "You think you're getting a little brother?"

Okay, well _that _doesn't help. Oh wow, his daughter is getting a little brother. Or sister. A little sibling. Who is now rolling his or her eyes again at him.

He wipes his hand over his jaw, swallows hard past the choke of his throat. "I'll get you guys started with the paint. I have to go into the precinct for a hearing, but I'll be back in time to help finish. That's a good idea, Alexis. It needs to be done and Kate's not supposed to inhale paint fumes for long."

Kate presses into his side, her hip flush to his, and lifts her head to give him a faint smile. Her face is still a rainbow of colors, her lip split and only a little puffy, but she's beautiful.

Their family is beautiful.

"So how often can you come home?" Castle says to his daughter, sharing his smile with her as well. "We're gonna need a lot of free baby-sitting."

Both women laugh, easing some of the overbright sentiment. Alexis gives him a little shake of her head. "My rotation is crazy hard right now, but every chance I get, I'll be here. I'm not missing out."

"Good," he says with relish, nodding at her, suddenly serious again. The past year has had a cloud hanging over it, a taint to the air no matter what love or hope or beauty he and Kate managed to create for themselves. "Good. You'd better not."

She shakes her head and then steps in to hug him again, tighter, her arms around his neck like she used to do when she was a toddler.

"No more ultimatums, Dad. We're done with that."

"Even better," he sighs, and curls his arms around her as well.

* * *

Kate sits on the floor of the baby's room, the dropcloth cool to the touch of her bare legs, scratchy where old paint stains have hardened. She and Alexis did most of it, though Castle did his ADD-child best. A pale grey, matching the elephants, that shimmers like the inside of a pearl.

She hears the front door open and then close with a slam, the grating turn of the lock. They need to get the door sanded down, planed maybe, because it's warped and hard to close. Next on the list.

Castle's footsteps on the stairs, the heavy tread that means he's still thinking too hard, still weighed down by everything. He told her what he did, last night in the darkness. She's not sure, because the bed was damp and their bodies already humid, but she thinks he was crying.

She sent her union rep in with him, ostensibly to protect her own interests in this case, but mostly to give him some legal counsel. He refused a lawyer - said that _Gates_ was looking out for him - but she wanted to be sure he didn't start in with _It was my fault._

Internal investigations didn't allow for guilty feelings and moral grey areas. He needed to state the situation and explain there was no other choice. Clean shooting.

Well, clean running a man down with his truck.

She probes at her split lip and hears him come in behind her.

"Oh," he breathes out.

She grins and turns her head to look at him, holds her hand out. He comes in the doorway, his eyes on the glowing grey walls.

"It looks like those amazing summer storms. Like-"

"Yeah," she says, eyes filled with pearled clouds and lightning strikes. He takes her hand and pulls her up to stand at his side.

Their fingers tangle, and she breathes next to him, her eyes on the walls, her imagination going back to all the things this room will be, already is.

"The crib goes here," he murmurs, stepping forward to stand near one wall. "What color, Kate?"

She smiles and trails after him, tracing her fingers over the edges of their not-bought-yet crib. "White or cherry?"

"Mm. Boy or girl?"

She tilts her head. "Do you want to find out or-"

"Let it remain a mystery?" he finishes, grinning wider at her.

"Yeah, me too."

"Black then," he says suddenly. "Dark wood against this grey. Alexis's nursery was all white and pink."

The point being what? He wants a boy or that he just thinks this time is different? Either way. She's good with that.

"I want that big print of the elephant in here. The one that was in your room at the loft."

He gives her a wide grin, his eyes coming to meet hers. "Cool."

She laughs back, stepping in against his side to air-kiss him. Her cheek is still sensitive to the slightest touch, her lip swollen, and last night was more than enough to shy away from touching him now.

"You know babies can't see color?" he says, moving to the window set deep into the perpendicular wall. "They see in black and white, shades of grey. And only a distance of an arm's length with any focus."

She hums and he glances back to her.

"You knew that," he states.

She nods once.

He huffs softly. "Yeah, corse you did. We can add color once it's here-?"

She nods again. "That's what I was thinking too."

"You're smart," he says back, smirking at her so that it seems like he's being sarcastic. Probably is. He's cute when he's sarcastic.

She lifts on her toes to brush a very light kiss to the smooth spot at his chin. He shaved diligently this morning, chose his suit with care; the dark blue of his dress shirt makes him look professional and serious and dashing.

"You're handsome," she murmurs, quietly so she doesn't have to move her mouth much.

His fingers come up to trail at her cheek, barely there, and she sees a flash of all of it in his eyes, the grief that mixes up tightly, painfully, with what he did for her and what he almost lost with her, but she's sees the healing too - the way they will bind each other up with every ultrasound they witness and piece of furniture they buy.

"They clear you?" she says softly, nodding her head back to the stairs like that's where it came from, the internal review.

He nods back. "Cleared."

"Good. It was a clean kill. You know that."

"But what I did afterwards-"

"Saved my life. And the elephant's. So we'll just have to live with that."

"I can do that," he says in a rush, and his eyes are suspiciously bright.

She reaches out and brushes her fingers down his suit jacket, skimming the material as she tries to reassure him with her eyes, tries to put all the love there in the way they gaze at each other.

Her fingers catch on the bulge in his pocket and she quirks her lips, slipping inside.

She meets scratchy soft yarn and sighs, expecting the ragged hole and the silky stuffing next.

But she fingers an ear, the thin reed of the trunk, and she darts her eyes up to Castle's, sees a grin spreading across his face.

She pulls out the stuffed animal she bought only a few days ago, on a stupid whim because it was just so tiny, and he kept calling baby the elephant, and she stares at it - whole.

"How did you - that was fast."

"I took it in before I picked you up from the hospital yesterday. They finished it just as I was leaving the precinct, called me, so I went and got it."

They even replaced the yellow ribbon around its little neck, the dark button eyes. She didn't know she needed it, but she did.

She needed it.

He takes it from her fingers and steps towards the deep window - the sill is practically a seat, which is why she liked the room so much in the beginning - and Castle leans over and puts the little elephant right up next to the window, letting him look out, his trunk against the glass.

She swipes at her cheeks, but the tears haven't fallen yet. She keeps them back with an effort of will and steps up into Castle, taking a deep breath.

It's perfect.

* * *

end


End file.
